


The Recruit

by xxbookreaderxx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, F/M, Human Parrish, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapped Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Smart Lydia, Stiles is Missing, Stiles is recruited, Stydia, Tortured Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxbookreaderxx/pseuds/xxbookreaderxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is it that Stiles is always the one to end up in the life threatening situations? Maybe he's just seen as the weakest link, seeing as he runs with werewolves and all. But when Stiles is in the woods he is confronted with a man that was effected by his brief time with the Nogitsune, everything goes downhill. But what will happen when Stiles learns the truth? What is he willing to do to save his friends lives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Recruit**

“Scott, there’s nothing here, I told you that from the start, we’re just wasting our time, well . . . my time, considering I’m the actual one here!” Stiles announced into his phone throwing his left arm up in aggravation. He had been in the woods, not far from the Hale house, from 11:00pm. It was now 1:35am.

"Just keep looking; it’s got to be there somewhere! And I told you, I would normally be there with you but I can’t! My dad’s set an alarm up on-”

  
“On the house yes I know. It's just creepy, okay? I'm officially creped out.” Stiles muttered to his best friend Scott McCall.

For two and a half hours, Stiles had been inspecting every last inch of the forest for the Desert Wolfs secret hide out but had had no such luck. Sheriff Stilinski had received a call saying someone had spotted a dusty wolf looking animal running through the trees and then stopping before just magically disappearing into thin air. The caller had said they reported it because he was a ‘trained hunter’ and that he knew his animals, this dusty wolf creature was apparently nothing he’d ever seen. The Sheriff thought it best to tell the pack In case it meant anything to them and Scott immediately jumped to the conclusion that the Desert Wolf was finally here and that they should all be prepared.

Unfortunately for Stiles, Scott’s Dad (who would be staying with him for quite some time) had installed an alarm system to the house because of all the ‘weird and unexplained’ things that had happened in Beacon Hills. This meant that Scott was unable to enter or leave the house without a signal going through to Agent McCall's phone. This wasn't just a nuisance to Melissa and Scott as that meant Stiles was the one having to go out on creepy night trips to the woods on one of the coldest nights of the year.

“Scott, I really don’t think anything's here, okay? I have been looking for two and a half hours! I have successfully memorised the location of every bush and tree in this wood and yet have still to find any secret den or hideout that could possibly suggest that the Desert Wolf was in Beacon Hills. Don’t you think that you’re jumping to Conclusions a bit? I mean, come on, where's the logic in this? Desert Wolf, the clues in the name. Last time I checked Beacon Hills is not a desert and judging by how freakin’ cold it is out here, I’d say it’s far from it."

About half way through his rant Stiles had turned and started back towards his Jeep which was parked outside the Hale house. He didn't care what Scott said now. He was cold, tired and worst of all board out of his mind. He was going home.

“Okay okay, but something is defiantly off. For a few days now I've been feeling really on edge, didn't Derek say that the desert wolf will have that sort of effect on werewolves?” Scott's deep voice filled the line, obviously feeling the need to justify his actions.

Sudden movement from behind a tree caught Stiles’ eye. In any other circumstance's he would have brushed off this odd flicker of movement but when you are in the woods at half past one in the morning and this odd flicker of movement had been happening for the past hour, you start to think, maybe this isn't just any odd flicker of movement. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the sensation of being watched crept up on him. His breath caught as he glanced around for any dark figures that might be lurking in the shadows.

Scott's concerned questions filled the line but Stiles took no notice as he started to circulate on the spot. Straining his eyes to see in the blackness of the morning. Stiles stopped scanning the area when his sight landed on the dark figure he’d been looking for.

His voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke. “Scott, I have to call you back”

The sound of a twig snapping behind him filled the frosty air. It was only then that Stiles realised how quiet it was, all the sounds of the night were silent, and how that one simple snap seemed to echo all around the forest lasting longer than it normally would. His heart quickened in speed, clashing against his ribcage. That’s when the panic settled in, Clawing at his chest like a wild animal.

“What? Why? And why are you whispering?” Scott asked sounding Hollow. “Stiles, what's happening? Is it there, have you found the Desert Wolf?”

“I'm being watched” Stiles Hissed through the mouth piece before he hung up, dropping his phone into his pocket.

 _Breathe stiles._ He thought,  _you were possessed by_ _a nogitsune_ for Chris _t's sake; you’re alive now aren't you?_ Feeling a little more assured Stiles yelled “Well, come out then.” to the figure several meters in front of him. Stiles knew there was more than one, that there was possible three or more people watching him right now, but his attention was drawn to the silhouette slowly moving towards him. “Had fun watching me for the past hour?” Stiles called out, his voice steadier than he would have expected.

“You have very keen senses, Mr. Stilinski.” A man’s voice drifted through to Stiles’ ears. Stiles couldn't help but laugh at this. “Well it’s not like you made it hard for me to pick up on your presence.” Stiles pointed out. The man stepped closer, now only two meters away.

The panic rose when Stiles felt two pairs of hands grab his upper arm. He looked left at a man with short black hair and stubble with big muscles and then on his right at younger, weaker looking boy with spiky blonde hair, younger than Stiles himself, maybe 15 years of age. Returning his gaze back to the one in front, obviously the leader. They were now standing face to face so Stiles was now able to take in his features. He looked to be about 40, he had curly brown hair and his face looked clean shaven. His noes looked as if it had been broken at one time because of the crook at the bridge. He looked strong, well built.

"So, what can I do for you that I'm guessing I won’t like considering the presence of these two lovely men here? Mr…?”Stiles inquired naturally, shoving his hands into his coat pocket. He got no answer to the inquiry on the man’s name and what he wanted. He laughed and started to wander about the space in front of Stiles.

"Confident one aren't you? Remind me a bit of myself when I was your age, long time ago now though.” The man started. He was shuffling his feet across the floor of the forest, moving aside leaves and twigs as if he were looking for something. “I've been watching you for a number of days now, Mr. Stilinski, you seem to spend an awful lot of time with that friend of yours, Scott, was that his name? The one you were just on the phone with. What was that about the Desert Wolf?”

“That’s for me to know and you to forget about!” Stiles warned.

“Stubborn too? Oh well, doesn't matter! That’s not what I'm here for.” He admitted.

He found what he was supposedly looking for when he bent down and picked something up. It was a large object that filled the man’s palm, it looked rather heavy. “My name’s Jack Demasi. And you’re the murderer who killed my wife.”

Before Stiles could add a comment, Jack swung his arm with the object in with great force and beat Stiles over the head. The world around him spun and his vision clouded over before he disappeared into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

  
Scott McCall was stood, with his arms crossed, wearing a concerned expression, in his untidy bedroom at 02:15 in the morning. His dark brown eyes fixed on his phone, which was lying on his bed. Scott had lost count how many times he’d tried to call Stiles back, but when it went to answer phone for the hundredth time, he decided to wait a few minutes to see if his best friend would call him back saying it was only him being paranoid and that everything was fine.

  
That call never came.

  
It didn't take long for Scott to get dressed and get out his bike keys. He was down stairs and at the door within the time space of 1 minute 46 seconds. He was just about to reach for the door knob when he heard light footfalls making their way down the stairs. Mentally cursing, Scott turned round to see his farther stood right behind him in his pyjamas not looking all too pleased about the early morning wake up.

  
“Scott, what yo’ doin’? S’quarter past two ‘n mornin’.” Agent McCall mumbled, his words slurring together making one jumbled mess, one hand massaging his temples. Scott was never too good at improvisation, Stiles was usually the one to get the pair of them out of this sort of trouble. Scott would always panic and say something completely un-important or come out with the worst excuse that even he would admit it was awful. Now was apparently no different.

  
“I... uhh…was just…going out for a walk…on my own…at 2:15 am…” He tried to add an innocent smile at the end of it to at least look like he meant it, but from the way his dad stared at him, it didn't go down too well.

  
“With your bike keys? I don’t think so.” Obviously, he was awake enough now to see strait through the lies Scott was feeding him. He needed Stiles. He could have been away right now if Stiles was there. But then again, if Stiles was there they wouldn't need to go out this early. There was a pause in conversation; Scott was desperately trying to think of anything that could pass as an expectable reason to leave at the early hours of the morning, but was thankfully saved by Melissa when she called from halfway down the stairs, “What’s going on? Where are you going, Scott?” He didn't need to say anything; all he had to do was give her the look. The look that said ‘I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't completely and utterly important, like life and death important, please let me go’. And yes, it had got to a point, where that was an actual look.

  
Understanding spread across her face, “Go...Now!” She ordered when Scott hesitated to move. He yanked open the door and with one thankful nod to his mother, tore away from the house, slamming the door on his way.

  
Scott climbed onto his bike, smacked on his helmet, and slid the key into the hole, twisting it. The engine stuttered to life as his pressed the gas and exhilarated out onto the road. He considered going straight to Stiles’ house and telling his dad but he wasn't sure that anything had happened yet, and didn't want to worry the sheriff. Scott found himself quickly gaining speed desperate to get to his location. As he got nearer to the woods, Scott began to pick up Stiles’ sent which normally would have been a good sign if it wasn't for the smell that came with it. Scott was becoming used to the stench and was never too surprised when it travelled into his sinuses. But there was no denying the dread he felt when he realised that Stiles’ sent was mixed with that of blood.

  
Scott could now see the first layer of trees in front of him and it only took a matter seconds for him to reach it. He pulled over at the entrance to the forest, tugging the key out and flicking the stand down so the bike now stood independently. He tore off his helmet and dropped it on the ground not bothering to be careful. Scott took off at a dead run, following the sent he’d caught, it getting stronger with each leap he took deeper and deeper into the wood.

  
After continuous running for a few more minutes Scott came across Stiles’ Jeep. It was vacant of any living creature. Scott wasted no time in pondering his decisions; he just continued his hunt, trusting his supernatural senses to lead him to Stiles, or whatever it was that was going to greet him once he’d reached his destination.

  
The running seemed to go on for an age, but finally, when the sent was at its peak, Scott reached a clearing and got to work on assessing the situation. His eyes went straight to a rock on the floor that was coated in blood. _Could this get **any** worse?_ He thought. Scott wracked his memory for what Derek had told him about being able to sense emotions, but all Scott could sense was anger. He could tell the anger wasn't from Stiles though. Nope. The anger was _directed_ at Stiles.

  
Fear for his friend developed in his gut and a shiver ran down his spine. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Stiles did not leave this forest willingly and he probably wasn't conscious either judging by the evidence here.

  
Not wanting to stay any longer, Scott returned back to his bike faster (if possible) than before, repeating the process of starting it up and stepping on the gas. He knew exactly where he was going and didn't want to waste any more time, if Stiles was actually missing, he needed help. And he needed it fast.

Scott arrived at the Stilinski house hold, not bothering to put his bike on the stand he just turned the engine off and ran to the door, banging on it several times before a very irritated Sheriff answered.

  
“…Is this, like, part of the whole supernatural world thing. Having to get up at 2:30 in the morning?” The agitated man asked. Indicating for Scott to enter. Scott complied and stood, solemnly, by the stair case. “So what’s oh so important that it can’t wait until the morning?” Scott didn't say anything for a second before it all came out in one mess, a hardly understandable mess. And it didn't help that Scott kept saying over and over again ‘it’s all my fault. I'm so sorry. It’s all my fault’. The poor Sheriff looked bewildered by the sudden outburst and it took a few seconds for him to take control over the babbling teenage boy.

  
“Wow, Scott slow down . . . I didn't hear a word of that. Take a deep breath and try again.” The elder of the two advised walking Scott over to the sofa where the two sat down. The teenager nodded, his chest rising and then falling.

  
“It’s Stiles. He’s missing.”

 

* * *

 

Why was it that Stiles was always the one to get into these sorts of scrapes? Maybe everyone just saw him as the weakest link, the human, the one without power. Well Stiles could easily assure anyone and every one that had a single doubt; he could defend himself just fine. They just always caught him at his venerable moments. Like when Peter was on his rampage and he attacked Lydia on the lacrosse field, Stiles could either have watched him tear Lydia to pieces or he could have gone with him and saved a great deal of trouble . Anyone with a human heart would have gone with the later.

  
He had awoken a few moments earlier accompanied with a throbbing headache and greeted with the sight of a small basement. Stiles was relieved to feel the freedom to move when he tried to stand but the nausea took over and he had to sit back down. He used the back wall to prop himself up and tried to think back to what happened before he lost consciousness.

  
He didn't remember much to start with but the more he thought about it the more that came back to him. Stiles could remember being in the woods, looking for the desert wolf. What then? Then . . . he was calling Scott because he couldn't find anything but he hung up because . . . he was being watched.

  
A chill ran down his spine when he remembered the men. The two that held him still and then the man that was talking, the leader Stiles presumed. What did he say?

  
That’s when the memory came crashing back to him all at once.

  
The man, the one who said he was called Jack Demasi, the one who hit Stiles, he said something that puzzled Stiles to the next century. _‘And you’re the murderer who killed my wife.’_ Stiles replayed the words over and over in his head each time trying to make sense of them, but ended up just frustrating himself.

  
Deciding to take his mind of it he took a better look at his surroundings. From what he could tell he was in a small basement that didn't contain much other than a staircase in the corner and a wooden pole in the centre of the room. The floor, walls and staircase were a rough stone. There was a wooden door at the top of the staircase but all bets were on that it was locked. The room had a definite smell about it. It was a damp and dusty smell, one you sort of expected from a coat cupboard. Just breathing the air in tickled the back of Stiles’ throat causing him to cough and splutter.

  
Stile’s dipped his hand into his pocket, checking for his phone. No luck. He’d expected this but still tried in case these men weren't so experienced.

  
Head still pounding, Stiles attempted to stand, fighting the sick feeling that took residence in his stomach. After giving his arms and legs a well needed stretch, Stiles hastily climbed the steps leading to the wooden door. He tried the handle. Locked. Even though Stiles knew that this would be the result he couldn’t push away the disappointment he felt. Quickly getting over this emotion, Stiles started to think of other ways to escape this nightmare.

  
The next thing Stiles attempted was barging into the door with his shoulder. This was an incredibly bad idea as not only did it not work but he the pain that was now shooting through his arm was just adding to the list of body parts that hurt. “Hello?” This was the next best thing. But once again Stiles found that this attempt was futile.

  
Returning to his spot on the floor, Stiles started his next try for answers. Waiting.

  
And he did. He waited for what seemed like hours. But Stiles knew better to trust his own judgment of time at the moment. What was 20 minutes could seem like 2 hours to him at this point. But this time it paid off. He started to hear voices trail under the door. He could only just make it out.

  
“I just want answers” One voice said. Stiles recognised it as Jack Demasi’s deep growling tone.

  
“And you will get them. They won’t find out he’s here” Stiles froze when he realised he also recognised that voice. The British accent is one he couldn’t forget. His thoughts were interrupted when he here the rustle of keys sliding into the lock and turning. The door swung forward letting light into the basement.

  
Two men stood in the way of the exit and to his disappointment, Stiles recognised both of them. There was Jack Demasi, of course, but then there was the other. The very man Stiles had suspected was the one talking to Jack. He was right. You know, it really sucked being right sometimes.

  
He was back. Deucalion was back.

  
“Good to see you again Stiles”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, will post the next chapter soon! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapters 3**

He’d never thought it possible for his whole world to fall apart within four simple words. But here he was. Here John Stilinski was. Mouth hanging agape with shock. His breath caught. His heart jumping with and increasing rate. John’s brain was working twice its normal pace trying to work around the news Scott had just broken to him. He started stumbling over what’s and how’s of the scenario, not being able to form a complete sentence that made sense.

  
Scott buried his head into his sweating hands, knowing exactly what the sheriff was trying to get across. “He was out in the woods looking for the desert wolf. When you said someone called about that animal they saw in the forest, I thought that that was what it was. The desert wolf.

  
“But Stiles called me earlier, about an hour ago, saying that he couldn't find anything but he said he’d kept hearing things, like breathing or movement. . . Then that he was being watched.” Scott paused to take a breath and think about his next few words. But John obviously took it as the end of his explanation as he started to deny that that meant anything.

  
“He could be asleep somewhere. He could just be feeling paranoid, you know? That doesn't mean he’s missing.” The distressed man stumbled over the different possibilities of where his son was, repeatedly shaking his head in denial. He’d already been through this experience a number of times and it was not one he wanted to dive back into.

  
“No, Sheriff, you don’t understand. I thought that too, that he was being paranoid, so I waited for him to call me back and when he didn't I went to the woods. I went there. His Jeep was empty. And there was . . . blood. And I know what you’re thinking that might not be his, that I'm just jumping to conclusions, like I always do, but I could sense anger or rage even. And it wasn't from Stiles. It was aimed _at_ Stiles.

  
“Sheriff, I know something’s wrong. I know I'm not just worrying too much. There’s evidence there. Solid evidence. And-”

  
“Okay, fine, all right.” John closed his eyes and massaged his temples. This can’t be happening again. Not again. He filled his lungs before asking “Can you tell if this was . . . like, supernatural?” he looked up at Scott who lightly shook his head, playing with his figures. There was silence between the two that was only occupied with their shaky breaths. “Okay.” He dropped his hands and for the first time in the last few minutes, he looked Scott in the eyes. “I’ll go to the station, you go to the forest and wait for me, I won’t be far behind.” He stood up and walked to the door opening it for Scott who had followed him off the sofa.

  
“We’ll find him.” Scott said with conviction adding small nod to go with it. The sheriff returned the gesture with a sad smile before Scott turned on the balls of his feet and headed down the drive towards his bike, hopping on and driving off.

  
Leaving the door wide open, John rushed upstairs and changed into his uniform. Then, bounding down the stairs and picking his coat up off the hanger, he left the house, sliding his coat on. He dug in his pockets for the keys to his car hoping to god that this was all just one huge misunderstanding. He stepped into his car and set off strait to the station.

 

* * *

  
Half an hour later, two police cars were parked on the damp soil that layered the ground of the forest floor, yellow tape sectioned off the area of the woods that Stiles had thought to have been. The rock coated in thick, crimson blood lay in amongst the fallen leaves and twigs, almost hidden. An officer was knelt next to footprints imprinted in the mud, taking notes in a small book. The tracks showed that there were four people in total . . . but one pair made a trail, as if the person’s heels had dug into the ground whilst being dragged away.

  
John tried not to think about any of this too much as it would probably end up in him breaking down, and he had to stay strong, especially in front of all his colleagues. He was the Sheriff after all. One of the reasons he was elected the job was that through tough times, he always stayed positive and had a clear head. This was one of the toughest.

  
Scott had been questioned on the phone call he’d had with Stiles which was incredibly drawn out, John had insisted that Scott go home now that he’d given his statement, that he get some rest, but the teen adamantly refused. He continuously stated that he was going to help in any way possible, but the Sheriff wasn't sure there was much he could actually do giving the lack of information at the scene. The wasn't a lot anyone could do right now.

  
“Sheriff!” The officer that had been examining the tracks yelled some way into the trees. “Tire tracks! And they lead onto the road out of Beacon Hills”

  
Johns head perked up at this new discovery, his heart sinking, looking over to Scott who looked just as disheartened as he guessed he looked like. The pair of them jogged over to the glum looking officer, John shaking his head as they slowed “Please don’t tell me the other tracks stop here too. Please.” He pleaded, closing his eyes not wanting to look to the floor.

  
“I'm so sorry” The officers voice rung out, sincerity lacing his tone.

  
He didn't need to hear any more. Sheriff or not he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. John turned his back as the first drop slid down his cheek and his heart crumbled into a million pieces. Stiles was all he had left. Losing him would be the end of his world. It took so much strength to pull through after Claudia passed, he wouldn't be able to do it again.

  
The tears came faster and faster and before long he was kneeling on the ground begging no one in particular to bring Stiles back to him.

 

* * *

 

 _What? “What?” What?_ Even though Stiles had guessed that it was Deucalion’s voice he heard, Stiles still couldn't come to grasps with him being a part of all this. “What the hell are you doing back in Beacon Hills? Didn't Scott and Derek tell you to get your ass out of this town, or more importantly, our lives?” Stiles asked now standing up. The wolf grunted. “I'm helping a friend” he motioned to Jack, fake sincerity dripping from his tone “you see, he wants answers and I was willing to help him get them. And I wouldn't be so sure you’re still in beacon hills Stiles, you were out for a while.” The door slammed shut, enveloping the group in darkness.

  
There was a shuffle of movement and before Stiles could prepare for whatever was coming his way a fist connected with his jaw, the momentum knocking him to the ground. The pain quickly and thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. He got the feeling that the hit wasn't supposed to hurt him as much as it did shock him. Well, Stiles could definitely say it worked. The lights flickered on, the brightness blinding Stiles’ eyes. He brought a hand up to shield it away and only brought it down when his eyes had adjusted.

  
Stiles propped himself up on his elbows raising his eyes to his attacker. “What the hell, dude? That was an unprovoked attack!” Stiles complained, but jack only laughed. The sound was menacing, penetrating the teens ear drums.

  
“Unprovoked attack? You think that was an unprovoked attack?” He’d stopped laughing, his expression filled with rage. Fear danced in Stile’s stomach and he backed away until he felt the cold, stone wall pressing against his back. His eyes flicked to where Deucalion stood at the top of the stair case a smirk plastered on his face. A huge disliking for the man grew in his gut. Jack followed Stiles forward, venom concealing his voice when he talked.

  
“I’ll tell you what an unprovoked attack is. An unprovoked attack was when my wife was murdered at the hospital! That was an unprovoked attack. And don’t I just know who caused that attack!” Jack threw an arm behind him towards Deucalion. “Well, my sources say you were. And I have very reliable sources. They say that you smiled. Smiled while you ordered those things to kill her. My wife.” Jack hissed, now face to face with Stiles. Now he understood. Why did it always have to come down to that one point in his life? That one point where he had no control over his actions. The point where the nogitsune took over. And what’s worse is that he had one of his many enemies telling random people he was a murderer. It was Deucalion’s fault he was in this mess. Stiles may have hated the guy before, but now, now he loathed him.

  
“Look, I understand that you’re upset, I do, but I have no clu-”Stiles was interrupted by the fist diving into his stomach making him heave over and gasp for breath. Now that hurt. Stiles took deep breaths and was surprised when he heard his voice raspy “I didn't kill you’re wi-” Another hit. “This is pointless! I don’t know wh-” Another hit, this time to his face, the sharp pain shot through his jaw, he winced. “Just stop!” Stiles was relieved when Jack decided to hold up on beating him to a pulp for the moment as silence filled the small basement. It lasted for a while and in that time Jack retreated back to the centre of the room. He no longer looked angry; he just looked like a man who’d lost someone close to him. Heartbroken and grief-stricken.

  
“I just want to know why” he whispered, his voice calm but forlorn. Stiles closed his eyes and shock his head. What could he say that could possibly pass as at the very least sane?

  
“If I were you I’d just tell him, it would save an awful lot of trouble” Deucalion suggested reminding Stiles that he was still in the room. Stiles scoffed, shooting a hard glare at the man. “I think you and I both know that he wouldn't believe me even if I did.” He sighed looking at his feet. He could feel a bruise where Jack had hit him on the face already forming, the skin tender.

  
“So you admit to it do you? You admit to being a murder?” Jack scowled, taking another step back as if he were fighting with himself to not rip the teen in front of him limb from limb. Hatred dazzled in his bloodshot eyes matching the hideous frown pulling at his lips. He looked incredibly sleep deprived, the black bags making pools under his eyes. Jacks clothes needed a good wash. Sauce staining his greyish shirt. His trousers were worn at the knee and the jacket was ripped at points.

  
“No! I wasn't there! I'm not a murder!” Stiles shrieked, balling his hands into fists the anger welling up inside of him. What did it take to get this guy to believe him? Slowly he rose to his feet, trying desperately to steady his breathing. “I'm not a murderer” He repeated.

  
“So what, you just happen to know everything that went on in that hospital? I want the truth. And if you don’t start telling it then things are gonna start getting violent” The elder man threatened and something about the viciousness of how he growled made Stiles pretty sure he wasn't bluffing. Stiles wasn't sure what to do, tell him, not tell him. Lie, don’t lie. He went with neither. There was a pause before Stiles hastily voiced “you lost someone and I get that! I do. And I know that right now you’re running on grief and adrenaline. But what happens when that runs out? . . . When reality kicks in. When you start to think again. My mother died when I was 10. I did some pretty stupid stuff. Of course, I didn't go round town accusing all the doctors of killing her, but I did stupid things. But none of what I did made anything better. What you’re doing now, won’t make anything better.” Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. A few seconds passed. And then a few more.

“That was the biggest load of crap I've ever heard!” Jack spat. He raised his hand and pointing a finger at Stiles. “You've just made everything worse for yourself. This could have been easy.” He turned on the spot and climbed the stairs. Deucalion left flicking the lights off as he went. Jack stood in the door way, still pointing his finger. “You’d better be prepared for what’s coming your way. Because by the time I'm through with you, you’re gonna wish you were with that dead mother of yours” He slammed the door shut, drowning Stiles in darkness once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading! will post the nest one soon. :)


	4. Chapter 4

** The Recruit - Chapter 4  **

 

The Sheriff sat at his coffee stained desk, up to his eyes in paper work that was due two days ago. He was seemingly indulged in the work, but an underage drinking teenager was the last thing that was running through his stressed brain. He couldn't concentrate when his only child was alone and in probable danger. He had already sworn down that whoever it was that had the nerve to take his son away from him, would pay a hell of a price.

 

There was a tap at his office door and his head jerked up to see Parrish's head pop through the gap. For a fleeting moment John aloud his hopes to rise as he wished for the deputy to present good news but as he saw the troubled look plastered on his face . . .

 

He dropped his pen on the table and let out a frustrated sigh, making the papers scatter across the table top. Dropping his head and waved for Parrish to enter, John pushed down the emotional flood rising within.

Parrish, his actions jittery, sat down in the plastic chair in front of the Sheriffs desk. He suddenly became very fascinated by his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He sat like this for a few minutes tension filling the small room. John eventually got bored of waiting "Parrish, you came in here for a reason, spit whatever it is that's getting you all on edge out. . . I have to know." John brushed his face with his dry hands before clasping them, elbows resting on the desk, in front of him.

 

Parrish nodded. "The test results came back on the blood we found. They apologised for how long it took . . . And for the results. they can confirm it was Stiles'. They say with the amount of blood loss, he wouldn't have been conscious and would have been out for at least 4 to 5 hours. Stiles' phone has been disabled so tracking won't be possible.

 

"We also had the test results back on the tire tracks. They were unsuccessful, but we can assume that it's big, most likely a van, due to how deep the tracks go into the mud." He paused, taking a deep breath, not just for him but to give the Sheriff a chance to log the information. John gave the gesture for Parrish to carry on. "Given the time from when we were alerted, to now . . ." The deputy trailed off closing his eyes. John didn't push the man as he knew where this was going. He tried not to let the heart break show on his weary expression.

 

"He could be any where in the US by now. And it passed the 48 hour mark, yesterday. Sheriff, I'm so sorry." Parrish finished, finally looking up into his boss' eyes. Anyone could tell the man was trying to conceal the pain that was evident in his body language.

 

The 48 hour mark was when most investigations just assumed the worst; they didn't stop looking altogether, just not as thorough. The chances of finding someone alive and well after 48 hours were critically low. Parrish had expected the man to shout, cry, do something. But the man just sat there nodding his head and looking out into thin air. "I needed to know. Thank you Deputy, you can show your self out." He waved his hand towards the door. But Parrish stayed put. He knew John. Knew he wasn't going to give up looking for his son. Not a chance. And neither would he.

 

"Look, Sheriff, I would tell you to go home, to sleep. But I know that if you actually do go home that you sure as hell won't be sleeping. I know you'll probably start an investigation of your own. So . . . " he leaned across the desk and gathered up the stack of paper work. "I'll do this, you go home and you concentrate on finding your son. Because if I know one person who don't give in or lose hope easily, it's Stiles. Regardless of 48 hours." He stood up, pride bubbling in his stomach, and left the room leaving John smiling, despite the mass of bad news, for the first time in the longest two days of his life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 John never realised how useful mystery boards were. Stiles had always told him that if he wanted a good perspective of the case he was trying to solve, he needed a mystery board. The replies were always along the lines of "waste of space" or "time consuming". If he had only listened, he probably could have solved twice as many cases.

 

John was in the living room, gnawing at his nails, focused on what was in front of him. He had watched Stiles set it up once so he knew perfectly well what goes where. not that it really mattered, it was just easier to understand once it was laid out properly, so his son had told him.

 

There were pictures of the crime scene, pictures of the test results on Stiles' blood that Parrish had handed to him on his way out, and a picture of a smiling, handsome young teen. John had searched through Stiles' room for the red string he'd seen him use once, and it was now strung from the board, connecting the pictures and bits of information together.

 

He rang Lydia a couple hours ago, telling her what had happened. He needed her help on this. Needed support through the investigation. She had agreed to meet John at his house as soon as she could, understanding the urgency of the situation. He would have called Scott to aid him, but he was afraid the teen wouldn't be able to concentrate for too long. Besides, no offence to Scott, but Lydia outsmarted him by a long way.

 

As if on que, there was a knock at his door and Lydia rushed in with bags of shopping twisted in her fingers. She looked wind swept, with her matted hair falling behind her shoulders. "I stopped by the shop on the way, I thought we might need some supplies." she smiled a sad smile and made her way to the kitchen and emptied the bags. John was slightly curious on how she knew her way so fluently around his house but he ignored the question and helped unpack. It was mostly just ice cream and coffee."I didn't know what flavours you like so I just got them all" she babbled, taking a spoon and the toffee ice cream to the board."So, what do we know?" she asked, eyes focused on the maze of string and pictures,whilst she scooped her ice cream into her mouth.

 

John filled her in on all the details, pointing a couple of times to the board to present his story. Lydia listened patiently, waiting for the Sheriff to finish before she spoke, placing her ice cream on the floor. "Okay, well, when you told me there's not a lot to go on, you weren't lying. But that doesn't matter because there's a couple things we can try that you haven't done.

 

"So, these people that took him, they would have to have know where he was going to be right? so that means they would have been following him for a few days, perhaps listening into his conversations to plan the right moment to make a move. Now I know you said he hadn't told you about a stalker or anything but that only means that he was either not telling you because he's an idiot or he didn't notice. Who was he with, say, two days before he went missing?" Lydia questioned determination ringing in her tone. But there was something else there too, behind the all the confidence, there was a trace of guilt and John knew why. He knew Lydia was supposed to have been with Stiles at the time but she was with her mother at the lake house for a birthday party. She told him over the phone mixed in with sorry's. He didn't blame her, but he knew she would have convinced herself it was her fault. Torturing herself with the "what if's" and "oh, if only's"

 

"Lydia, I don't see how this is going to help." John collapsed into the sofa behind him with a huff. His attitude obviously surprising the red head. An image of Stiles scowling at him for calling her red head when "She's strawberry blonde" popped into his mind and he almost smiled. Almost. The small glimpse of emotion faded when he looked back to Lydia who did not look all to impressed.

 

"Sheriff, you need to start thinking! It's so simple! A three year old would understand." Lydia remarked, plopping down beside him. She was a little disappointed at how unhelpful he was. She knew it was probably just a faze he was going through, but still, she had higher hopes. "If someone spotted something and got a good description, then we can get a description artist to draw a picture and we can run it through the data base. We can ask whoever it is that saw them if it's the right guy and then-"

 

"Lydia. Lydia,just listen for a sec. We've already tried that. Sorry, but we've already tried that!" John interjected his hope for the girl slightly lessening. But she didn't look disappointed. Not at all. If anything, she looked like she was expecting it.

 

"Okay." she said simply.

 

"Okay?"

 

"Okay." Her face was expressionless as she talked "Remember how I said I had a couple of ideas. That was only one of them. But I warn you now, this idea,it's a long shot and most probably against the law."

 

"What is it?"

 

"You didn't find his phone at the scene, right?" She asked, ignoring Johns question. Lydia wasn't sure about this herself, but they were running out of options. And Stiles was running out of time.

 

"Right" John had no clue where she was going with this. The warning about breaking the law hadn't fazed him one bit. When it came down to his sons safety, he would do whatever it takes to get him home and in his arms again.

"And he had been on the Phone to Scott before hand right?" She questioned again, crossing her legs.

 

"Lydia, get to the-"

 

"Right?" It was her turn to cut him off this time and she felt no guilt in doing so. She would do this in her own time! "Yeah. Right" He confirmed, feeling slightly like he was being integrated. She nodded at this, he face scrunched up in thought. She looked up and met the sheriffs gaze.

 

"What if I told you there was a way to track his phone. Even when it's off."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles had a plan. It wasn't a particularly unique plan. But it was a plan none the less. He had waited, what he guessed was three days for this moment,working out a schedule of how often Jack comes down, if he's alone or with Deucalion. When he brings food or when he just comes down to . . . talk.

 

He had been fed twice,(there was no food on the first day) along with half a bottle of water. He used the food as an indication of how much time had passed giving him the theory that he'd been locked up for three days. He was given a piece of stale bread each time, not nearly enough to keep his energy up, but enough to keep him alive.

 

But when Jack walks through that door without food or water in his hands, Stiles' stomach plummets. In total, Jack enters the basement five times a day. In four of the visits, Jack asks that one question. The one impossible question.

 

why did he do it?

 

Of course there's no way of explaining this to him that wouldn't make Stiles' sound like he completely insane. And so what does Jack do? He hits him. Over and over again. Raining punch after punch on his agile body. Stiles had little energy to fight back and so he withheld what he had to save it for the right moment. This moment.

 

The physical state of his body was atrocious. Every muscle in his body ached and his face was swollen. He could feel a lump in the corner of his forehead where he had been hit and knocked out with the stone. It was crusty which he presumed was dried blood. He tried to picture what he would look like in his mind. Blood covered, pale, bruised. He didn't like what he was imagined.

 

It probably didn't help that he kept making witty comments to his captor, but he just couldn't help it. Being alone in a room with no one to talk to for hours upon end did that to him. Or maybe it's just who he was. It could have also had something to do with the fact that he hadn't taken his adderall for a while either.

 

But the worst thing. The thing that topped it all. overpowered the pain. Beat the hunger.

 

Boredom.

 

Stiles would do anything at that moment in time to relieve himself of the feeling. His own thoughts almost pushing him over the edge of insanity. His mind kept wondering into a blank open space with nothing to pull it back. The only thing that gave Stiles a slight jolt of excitement was the thought of his escape plan.

 

At that moment in time, Stiles was crouched on the banister at the top of the stair case, ready to pounce the next time Jack walked through the door. Which, by his schedule would be any minute now. It would be the last visit of the day. Stiles had decided to put his plan in to action at this particular time because this was when Jack would be at his weakest stages, having spent most of his energy throughout day. He hoped.

 

The only time Deucalion had ventured down into the room was on the first day, which gave Stiles confidence in that he won't meet any trouble if he manages to escape the basement.

 

The distant sound of an opening door travelled to Stiles ears. Then, slow, heavy footsteps getting louder with each pace.

 

Stiles could feel his once steady heart rate rapidly climbing, taking deep, shaky breaths. His hands started to shake and he had to cling onto the door frame to make sure he didn't fall back. That would have been a massive flaw in his plan.

 

The jangling of keys could now be heard before it developed into clicking and twisting. And then the door popped open and Jack moved in. This was it. It was now or never. Stiles leapt from the banister landing just behind an incredibly confused Jack. The man spun around giving Stiles the opportunity to rip the keys from his hands. Jack swung a bloodied fist towards the teens already swollen jaw. Narrowly missing the punch, Stiles flung out his leg, sending pain spiralling throughout his adrenaline filled body, and kicked the elder man in the stomach sending him tumbling down the cold, stone steps. Not looking back on his falling enemy, Stiles raced out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Hurriedly, he fumbled with the keys, sliding one into the lock. It clicked showing that the door now couldn't be opened with out the key, and that was when Stiles realised what he'd just accomplished.

 

He stood there in disbelief. Looking at the door that had kept him prisoner for 3 days. Stiles let out a yelp of joy and fist pumped the air.

 

"Ha ha! It worked! It actually worked!. . . yes! Now that's how you escape from a basement!" He laughed, turning around to face the room in front of him. It looked like a garage with all it's tools and stationary. He scanned the room looking for the exit.

 

And there it was, his way out. Stiles proceeded to the opposite corner of the garage, steeping around cardboard boxes and over tool boxes before he arrived, hastily twisting the door knob and peeking through the gap. From what he could see this was a normal house. He couldn't see much at the moment, Just the kitchen and the hall way, but they seemed pretty average. He cranked the door open further and took a step out, revising to his right, behind a work surface, the lounge, but damn if Deucalion wasn't there too.

 

Luckily, the wolf's back was to Stiles. He gripped the keys tighter in his hands to stop them from making a noise and slowly bent down to take off his shoes, taking steady breaths.

 

"There's no point in trying, I can hear your heart beat."

"God damn it!" Stiles cursed,mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. Of course he could hear his heart, it was beating faster than he thought possible. Not to mention his outburst in the garage. He felt silly for getting his hopes up, for thinking he could run away from this nightmare, he was dealing with Deucalion. Deucalion who was the x-alpha of a pack of alphas. He should have known it wasn't going to be easy.

 

The werewolf stood and turned towards Stiles, who was, surprisingly, not nervous. He stood his ground as the elder man approached."So! care to tell me why you you went all girl gossip and told Mr. Demasi down there I brutally murdered his wife?" Stiles urged wanting to know what it was that this guy had against him. Deucalion kept coming closer until they were only a meter apart.

 

"I merely wanted to see how you'd cope. Care to tell me how you got out." He shrugged, not making any attempt to attack as he casually leaned against the work surface. Stiles folded his arms not taking his eyes away from the wolf, trying to hide the curiosity that was caused by Deucalion's answer. He was half surprised he'd answered in the first place.

 

"Oh you know, one on one battle, I was obviously just too much for him." Stiles smirked. Deucalion didn't look all too impressed with the reply, probably thinking since he was honest, Stiles would be honest. But nope!

 

"I don't think I asked for sarcasm" He growled, getting agitated.

 

"And I don't think I asked to be here but we don't always get what we want now do we?" Stiles retorted. He'd really have to learn to shut up some time. To Stiles' joy, Deucalion seemed to accept his comment instead of getting completely mad which was what Jack tended to do. Stiles knew there was no point in not saying, what did it matter how he escaped any way? He let a sigh burst from his lungs. "I waited by the door so when Jack entered I could easily attack with out him even having processed what was going on. A pretty crap plan I know, but it was working until you had to butt in, thanks for that by the way!" He added on the end with a flick of his usual self.

 

"How did you know I wouldn't be there too? I could have easily taken you out." He said with a smirk of his own, clasping his hand in front of him. Stiles was so tempted to just turn and run. The door was only down that corridor. But Deucalion was much faster, he'd have no chance.

 

"I'm not stupid, I know how to remember a schedule. The only time you came down into that basement was when you first showed your face. I knew the only reason you'd come down was if something was wrong. This is Jack's battle, not yours. And he was on time. So I knew I could go ahead with the plan. Weather I'd meet you out here was a risk I was willing to take. And now I'm paying the price." He stated, all the fun fading away with that sentence. But Deucalion was smiling, not a happy smile, but a smile that suggested you were right all along. Stiles couldn't help but feel a little creeped out.

 

"Oh I know you're not stupid. In fact, that's one of the reasons You're here." his face grew serious as did Stiles'."Not because some guy thinks your a killer. But because you're smarter than your average teen. You want to know why I told him you killed his wife? Why you're in the worst physical state possible? It was a test,Stiles." He announced as he started to circulate around the teen.

 

Stiles stayed put, feeling mire than a little uncomfortable as the conversation went on. He could tell he wasn't going to like where this was going."A test on what?" he spat, glad to hear no quiver in his tone.

 

"Two things. Intelligence and your ability to withhold something no matter how tough things got." He stated. coming to a halt in front of Stiles once more. The way he looked at Stiles, it was as if they were in a museum and he was the artefact. It sent a shiver crawling down his spine at the thought."And you have proved to me that you, Stiles, are perfect for the job." And Stiles thought things couldn't get any more confusing. What was this guy talking about nut before he could ask he called two names out. Elliot and Viktor.

 

The two men that had held him at the start of all this mess, entered the room, the elder one walking right over to Deucalion whilst the younger stayed in the corner, watching in silence.

 

"I'll take those" Deucalion snatched the keys right from Stiles' hands. He then turned to the man at his side and said something too quiet for Stiles to hear. The man nodded and moved towards the garage. Once fully out of sight Deucalion called the younger, more teenage looking if anything, over.

 

"Uhh, I know I have a tendency to do things and then forget, but I'm pretty sure I haven't filled out a job application in the last few weeks." Stiles exclaimed, still not following what was going on here. There was no reply, just a hushed conversation between the pair in front of him. It didn't take long for Viktor (Stiles had caught a bit of Deucalion's conversation and was able to suss out that this was Viktor and the other Eliot) to come back with Jack being practically dragged behind him.

 

When he looked up, stiles saw fear sparkling in his eyes and he understood why when he saw Viktor in wolf form.

 

"Well that's one way to break the news that werewolves exist" Stiles muttered. He turned back to Deucalion, "Hey, d'you mind stopping all this 'lets tell him a little bit to make him completely and utterly lost and then not say anything for a while till he completely and utterly loses it' thing? Because it's making me completely and utterly frustrated, that would be great, thanks." Stiles complained. This situation was incredibly stressful and he didn't need it at the moment. But it was as if he were invisible as Deucalion just ignored him nodding to Eliot who advanced towards Jack.

 

"What are you doing? Stop. What are you doing" Jack demanded as Eliot, too, transformed. But he didn't stop. He took one more step towards the man who was now being held still by Viktor. His face contorted and he drew his arm back revealing his pointed claws. Stiles didn't want to watch this, he turned his head at the last minute to save himself from the nightmares he knew he'd have if he continued to view the scene playing out before him. The sickening sound of his claws tearing through the flesh was bad enough.

 

He stood there for a few seconds, refusing to turn his head back around. He could here the shaky breaths of the dying man and then the impossible question was posed again.

 

"Please . . . just tell me . . . why?" he spoke in between breaths. Stiles did turn his head this time. He was propped against the wall, a deep gash from his shoulder down to his hip was gushing with blood and his face had paled intensely. Jacks eyes that were once filled with craze and anger, were now drowning in defeat, the hurt expression that engulfed his face dug deep in Stiles. After all, the man had lost someone close to him, and grief could make you do some ridiculous things. He wasn't saying he liked the man, but Stiles understood why he did it. and he couldn't deny a mans last dying wish.

 

"It wasn't me." he swallowed, looking Jack square in the eye, blocking out Deucalion and his men for now. "It was a spirit. Called the nogitsune. It possessed me. And it killed so many innocent people. Including one of my best friends. It wore my face, but it wasn't me." He finished. That was all the explanation needed. And as a few more seconds passed, Jack drew one more sharp intake of air and the life slowly faded from his eyes.

 

"Well, wasn't that emotional!" Deucalion joked as if nothing just happened. Stiles, still transfixed by the lifeless body just meters in front of him whispered "Why did you do that?" and brought his gaze back to meet Deucalion's."He was getting in my way." He shrugged."Now, back to our little conversation we were having earlier. Stiles, you are the newest member of my pack. I have some things to be doing and I need you to work a few things out for me."

 

He was thankful things were finally clarified, but he didn't like the idea at all. Part of his pack? He couldn't do that. He could never work for the opposite side. The bad side. "And what if I refuse?" He said making it clear he was not going to comply

 

"Stiles, I really don't want to have to hurt someone but if you carry on like this then we might have to make a quick stop at the station, pay the Sheriff a little visit." He threatened, making his own point clear. The worst part was that Stiles knew he was telling the truth. He understood that if he made one wrong move then it would be his Dad paying the price that time.

 

"You so much as lay a finger on him, I swear to god!" Stiles shot, Viktor and Eliot back at his side to hold him still if he tried to do anything. His heart was pumping with anger and he could feel his hands shaking. Deucalion once again ignored him as he started grabbing a few things a placing them in a bag that was in the lounge.

 

"Right then, glad we came to an agreement. I'll meet you in the car." And with that he was being escorted out of the house and towards a black Mercedes. The sudden whisk of air and wind was overwhelming. He didn't realise how nice it was to actually have fresh air circulating through his veins, but it was all taken away from him again as he was shoved into the back seat of the car and the door slammed shut.

 

He looked out of the window at his surroundings. There were trees and and rivers and birds, their song muffled by the wall of metal between them. He looked at the sky, it was dark, but only just as if night had only recently fallen and there were still some lingering sights of the evening. He turned his head towards the house he'd spent three days in. Three, boring, hunger and pain filled days. He was glad to be finally rid of that room. He was glad to be leaving the house. But he wondered what it was that Deucalion wanted him to do, and that brought dread and fear to his gut.

 

Deucalion stepped into the car and sat next to Stiles, his two men up front. Viktor twisted the key and the engine roared to life. He pressed the gas and the car jolted into movement, leaving behind Stiles' worst memories. But moving towards a bleak future.

 

This, Stiles thought, was going to be a long ride.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Recruit-Chapter 5 **

 

"I have a signal" Lydia announced under her breath, hardly audible. Two hours had passed and Lydia was beginning to lose hope in her idea. The processes of locating a device, was incredibly drawn out. There were several pass codes and questionnaires to be filled out and the stress of remembering all had the information had Lydia's brain working overtime. And in the end, it all seemed to have just been a waist of time because it was getting them no where. That was, until the green flashing light popped up on her laptop screen, which was on the arm of the sofa, giving her a location.

 

It took a moment for the new, sudden news to sink in and for her to fully understand the chances of finding Stiles there. But what the hell. It was as good a lead as any and before she could control herself she was yelling at the top of her lungs in excitement.

 

"Sheriff! Sheriff get in here! I've got a signal! I've got a signal!"

 

Not long after the words had left her mouth, did John come scrambling in, a look of sheer disbelief on his face which was quickly banished when he saw the ecstatic teen jumping about his lounge in front of him. There were clear bags drooping down his face, but by the way his eyes were lit up with enthusiasm, anyone would have thought they were due to spending an awful lot of energy in one go and not the fact he'd had next to no sleep for three days strait.

 

He joined Lydia, stood before her laptop, on looking the map of Beacon County were a glowing green dot was place just at the entrance the Beacon Hills. That wasn't far. Not far at all. Half an hour drive at most. He couldn't have contained the bubbling feeling if he tried. He turned to Lydia and dove in for a heart warming hug which was immediately returned.

 

When they finally broke off, John started rummaging through his pockets, and came out with his phone and keys. He was about to hand the keys over to Lydia so she could wait for him in his car but he stopped himself for the moment. Johns hand was hovering just above Lydia's waiting palm, he looked up at her in a sudden unsure expression. "Lydia . . ." She held his gaze, concern twisting her brow."Are you- I mean, do you- ugh." He sighed, working out what he was trying to say in his head. But she beat him to it.

 

"You're afraid." She nodded, not taking her eyes of him for a second. The sheriff could only weakly nod, as if admitting it out loud would give Stiles less of a chance. "I just don't want to get there to find out he isn't or if he's . . . " He broke off, looking to the floor, all traces of the previous excitement, vanished from his drained face.

 

"I expect you to be afraid. You wouldn't be human if you weren't afraid. And I can't guaranty that Stiles _will_  be there. But what I can tell you is that he _was_ there. That means there's evidence, right? We can find him. We _will_ find him" Lydia reassured, finally taking the keys from his hands and walking off out to the car.

 

John stood there for a few minutes, astonished by how Lydia's consistent positivity was taking a big effect on him. It took him several more minutes to remember what he was doing but eventually, he dialled Parrish and told him to catch up with the pair because they weren't waiting any longer. Once he put the phone down, he joined Lydia in the car and started off in the direction of Stiles.

 

It was silent for the majority of the ride, there wasn't much to talk about and they were both equally lost in thought. But ten minutes into the journey, Lydia had to voice one question that kept burning in the back of her mind and she just had to get out. Had to find the answer. "Why am I here?" her words rung out into the empty space in the car. John kept his eyes on the road, when he answered, his reply not the one she wanted as it was blunt and dodging what she was trying to get across. "You're helping me."

 

She looked at him with an accusing glare, turning her body so it was faced more towards John. "Come on Sheriff, you know that's not what I mean. Why am I here instead of Scott or Derek. They could be of much better use than I am considering they have supernatural abilities!" She put her hands up to put emphasis on her point. It was the one thing she'd wondered since he called her up. Surely a werewolf would be supreme to a simple human. What about Argent? He was a hunter. He'd be much more of a help. So why then had the Sheriff chosen her?

 

There was no reply at first, just silence, and she was beginning to think she wasn't going to get an answer,that John was just going to leave her in the dark. But then he sighed and glanced towards her for a flicker of a moment before returning his concentration to the road. "He loves you, Lydia. And I know from all the work you've done and _are_  going to get him back, that you love him too. He needs to see that you care."

 

To say that Lydia was surprised would be the understatement of the year. She didn't really know what she was expecting but that was defiantly not it. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny the truth in what he had said. She did love Stiles. She loved him so much it hurt. The buzzing feeling in her stomach whenever she heard his name. Whenever she heard his voice. The need to find Stiles safe and well was so strong and ever-growing. She would find that sarcastic and lively teen. And when she did, she would tell him how much she loved him, she wouldn't stop telling him. The Sheriff was right. He needed to know she cared.

 

"Plus, you have the IQ level of a genius."

* * *

 

 It was quiet. Not the comforting quiet, but the type that gives you goes bumps and every small sound makes you jump and spin. There was a breeze that whisked through the towering trees planted a few yards from the house. John and Lydia were positioned just out side the door of the old rugged house that looked as if it was about to collapse. John had his gun drawn and he had a defensive posture with his hand on the door knob.

 

The feeling had kicked in once they were halfway there. The feeling of something cold running through her veins and the voices in her head screaming over and over. But Lydia pushed it down. Thinking that if she didn't believe it, it wouldn't happen. Stiles was not dead. Of course Lydia hadn't bared the news with John, afraid of the out come. But John had noticed something was up, he noticed almost strait away, and it didn't help that Lydia wasn't the best of actresses.

 

Parish, and the rest of the police squad on the case, had arrived not long after The Sheriff and Lydia, asking for details. Of course, John hadn't told them the complete truth, bending it just a bit so they weren't braking the law in their eyes. He could see the disbelieving look in Parrish's eyes but the man didn't press,to John's relief. Together, they had formulated a plan of action on entering the house, because if Stiles really was in there, they didn't want to take a chance on his life and go raging in there like wild animals. However, what they had come up with wasn't much better. The squad (A team of roughly around 8 men) were located around the house so all area's were covered, while Parrish, John and Lydia were covering the porch and going in through the front door.

 

"You're surrounded," John called out to whoever (if there was someone) was in the old, creole cottage. "come out now with your hands above your head" he ordered, looking down at the floor. There was nothing. Only silence. John waited a few seconds before he turned to Parish, nodded and shoved the door open, entering with his gun out in front. Lydia stayed put while the two armed men walked forward, looking left and right, shouting to come out. Her nerves eating away at her stomach. She didn't want to say it, but somewhere in there was a dead body. No matter how hard she tried to shut the voices out, they just came back with a vicious vengeance, louder than before.

 

Once she heard the all-clear, Lydia hastily stepped in, doing a little of looking herself. In front of her to her right was a set of stairs that were carpeted in a beige colour. strait ahead was a hall and to her left was a room that looked to be a store cupboard. Not noticing the Sheriff had stopped, she bumped into the man and mumbled out a few sorry's, yet when he didn't answer, she focused her gaze on what John was gaping at, knowing before her vision found the sight, what was there.

 

A single body lay, motionless at the end of the hall, in the kitchen. The head was twisted away, blocking all view of his face, but by his clothes and the way his body was built, Lydia could tell that it was male. Her breath caught and doubts started to filter through her brain, making her think maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to judge. The trio rushed over, and observed the body closer up. Once there was a full view of the mans face, Lydia finally let out her held breath. It wasn't Stiles. The mans face was covered in stubble and his lifeless eyes were bloodshot, indicating that he had not long been dead. Across his middle body was five scratch lines,one for each finger, a sticky blood pool formed at his hands that were limp, hung by his sides.

 

It wasn't Stiles. That's all that mattered.

 

At the thought of Stiles' name, John stepped over the man and belted out his sons name. Going from room to room, his eyes scanning every corner for any clue that Stiles was there. With each empty room, Johns stomach dropped even further until he'd checked every room in the house and his disappointment reached a record breaking low. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't there. He wasn't in the house. He was gone. Lydia walked up to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder but was shocked when he shook it off. Not in a rude way. But in such a way that put across that he was okay. In some sort of mind anyway.

 

"Okay, we need forensics up here. Parrish, you call them up and get the squad in here. Lydia, you and I are gonna split up and search each room in this house for anything that might help us. Like you said, evidence right?" He smiled and shot of down the hall and up the stairs.

 

Parrish was already talking on the phone when Lydia turned round to go in the opposite direction to the Sheriff, and the eight men that had been waiting outside were now scavenging through the lounge that was right next to the kitchen, leaving Lydia with little choice on what room she was to look through. Letting out a sigh, she walked through the door ahead of her.

 

The room in which she entered was cold and dark and was filled with boxes of some sort. Lydia fumbled along the wall for a light switch and flicked it once her hand felt the cold, metal.

 

The room plunged into light, and everything became clear. It seemed like a normal garage, there were tool boxes and boxes of screws. Bags of dusty looking clothing were piled in the corner along with an oak table that had a leg missing. On the surface of the oak table was what looked to be a scrap book. Intrigued, Lydia preceded towards the desk, and picked up the book.

 

Blowing a thick layer of dust away, she opened it and studied the first page. It was a picture of the dead man, he was young, approximately 14. He was sat in a field playing an acoustic guitar. There were many pictures like that one, Lydia found out as she flicked through the pages until she turned the last one. This time he was with someone. A woman. She was beautiful. The woman had perfect skin and big brown eyes that dazzled in the light. He was tall and muscular with floppy brown hair. They looked to be around 23. The couple were strolling along the beach, fingers entwined. The man was smiling warmly at her as she laughed, her brunette hair strewn across her face. The sun shone upon them as if approving their love, reflecting off her eyes and his smile. It was the sort of picture that one would frame, put up on a wall to share with grandkids or parents, it definitely didn't belong in a weathered old scrap book.

 

"What's that?" Lydia let out a yelp of surprise and dropped the book. It slammed onto the table, blowing a load of dust everywhere. Coughing to clear the grime from her throat, Lydia peered over her shoulder at Parrish who was staring at the pictures in the book. Either Lydia had dismal hearing or he was incredibly light on his feet.

 

"Pictures. I'm guessing that's our guy out there and his wife. I'm sure I saw him with a ring on." She stated,pointing towards the woman in the photo. Parrish did his share of looking and then turned and did a sweep of the room himself. He paused now and then to get a better look at whatever it was that caught his attention, but nothing was ever so fascinating that he had to share it with Lydia. Eventually, Lydia's feet gave into the aching they felt, so she plopped down on the desk and waited.

 

"So it was his house then?" Parrish finally broke the silence; it was more of a statement than a question. Lydia slowly came back to the room in front of her, having been lost in her own thoughts for a while. "hmm?" she inquired, still a little hazed. She jumped down from the table and joined the officer by the door. "This house, it's that guys out there." Parrish repeated leaning against the wall, it was cold against his upper-arms. He immediately regretted leaving his jacket in the car. "That would be my first guess, yeah." Lydia replied and then pointed to the door.

 

"You been in here yet?" She asked and when Parrish shook his head she reached for the door knob. Lydia, once again, searched along the wall once the door was open for a light switched and flicked it on when she found one. The room was a small, square basement with a single pole down the centre and it felt like it dropped a couple of degrees within that one step forward into the room. The couple descended the stairs before them and started the inspection.

 

It only took a matter of seconds for the crimson-red blotches to draw the attention of the pair; it was kind of hard to miss when there were quite a few patches of the substance. A shiver ran down Lydia's spine as she stared wide eyes at the stains. Parrish must have noticed how suddenly distressed Lydia became because he turned towards her on an angle, blocking any further view of the scene.

 

"Go wait on the porch for the forensics team, tell them to come down here when they're ready." He said with a forced smile. "Maybe you could go find John and help him?" He added. making the point that it was time for her to leave, clear. Lydia complied and made her way to the top of the stairs, but just before she could exit, Parrish called out to her.

 

"Yeah?" she mumbled, looking down at the officer, keeping her sight trained on him. _Don't look._   _Dont. Look._ It was harder than you would of guessed. It was like trying not to look at the next line of speech in a book; it's just too tempting. But Lydia was strong. She restrained her self from looking. She kept her eyes from wondering.

 

He looked up to her with a soft smile, his arms wrapped around him in a poor attempt to keep out the cold that was biting at his bare skin.

 

"Bring me a coat would you? It's freezing down here."

* * *

 

Whoever said 'time travels quickly when your having fun' left out the second half to that saying. What about when your as board as hell and are stuck in a car with the one person you hate the most? Well, Stiles can clarify, it travels slower than the last lesson on a Friday. And that's saying something.

 

Stiles' elbow was leaning on the window frame with his head propped on his open hand, staring blankly out into the open fields just on the other side of the window. Stiles guessed they had been traveling for 2 hours, through unfamiliar towns and cities and now appeared to be going through the country side. The sky had transformed into a pool of blackness, void of decoration. Nothing like the sapphire night back home, where the stars glistening and almost seemed to smile down on the town. Where ever they were, it was no where near Beacon Hills. And no where near as beautiful.

 

It had been a relatively quiet ride so far. Most of the talk was Deucalion reminding Stiles what would happen if he tried to escape, but there was no point. The message had been received the first time he'd said. That doesn't mean he wouldn't try to get away, oh no! He would just make sure that when he does make his move, his plan would be impossible to fail. Stiles would wait for the perfect opportunity, when they were the vulnerable ones instead of him, and that would be a one time chance, one that Stiles would not miss.

 

Deucalion was staring at him. He had been for the past 5 minutes. Stiles could feel him burning holes in the back of his head, could feel him waiting. "If you're going to stare at me the whole way, then please tell me so I can conceal myself." Stiles uttered, not moving his gaze from the ever changing view out the window.

 

"What are you thinking?" He finally asked what had obviously been on his mind for quite some time.

 

"Debating my chances if I jump out of this car." Stiles said dryly, finally turning to Deucalion, his face displaying clear disapproval of the situation. Viktor, who was still driving,scoffed. A rough exhale of air that reminded Stiles that he and Elliot were still there.

 

"Oh cheer up, you're no fun when you're like this, it won't be that bad. We're pack now. You do as I tell you, things don't have to get violent. It's as simple as that!" He said as if simply stating the sky was blue. Stiles didn't reply. He felt no need to. Anything he had to say would most likely get him hurt. And he would prefer to stay in good physical state thank you very much. Nothing else was said and only the sounds of the roaring engine could be heard until they finally reached their destination.

 

The car jolted to a stop. A quick glance outside the window told Stiles they had stopped in a forrest much like the one where this all started. The overhanging trees were moaning and swaying to the wind. This place was definitely creepier than Beacon Hills' forrest. The eerie sounds of the night creeped into the car and pricked at the back of Stiles' neck.

 

Stiles' hadn't noticed in the time he took to look around, that everyone else had gotten put of the car and before Stiles's could move himself, Viktor had reached into where Stiles sat and dragged him out, his grip like an iron vice. The harsh wind whipped at Stiles' coat and bit at his face. He was thankful for the extra piece of clothing. Thankful it hadn't been taken off him. Concentrating, Stiles turned his attention to his captors.

 

"So, what's with the pit stop? Not sure your gonna find much fuel here if your looking for a top-up." He eyed the hands holding his arms with a disapproving glance before returning to face Deucalion. However, Deucalion wasn't bothered about Stiles, as he had started up a conversation with Elliot.

 

"You know what to do if he causes you any trouble. We need his mind, not his physical body. I don't know how long we'll be. And you," he rounded on Stiles,"Don't try anything you'll regret, it'll only end badly. For you and Daddy" He warned with a threatening glare before waving towards Viktor and striding off deep into the trees.

 

It was only a matter of seconds before their silhouettes completely faded and Stiles and Eliot were left alone, standing in silence. The noises of the forests seemed projected. The wind hissed as it gushed through the leaves, tearing them from there branches.

 

The silence between the pair grew awkward as Stiles desperately thought of something to say that wouldn't get him killed. However his options were limited as the majority of what came out of his mouth tended to offend or annoy. so instead, he just lent back against the car and looked to the floor, his mind buzzing with ideas on escape. If, out of the three of them, one were to break, it would be Elliot. This could be his chance.

 

"You heard what he said. You try to run and there will be consequences. But for what its worth, I honestly don't want to hurt you. Please don't make me." This was all he said as he had turned around and headed for a rather big oak tree and slid down it into a sitting position.

 

Stiles had to make a plan. And a good one to be able to fool a werewolf. And considering he was human, fighting his way out of this situation would not be an option. But Eliot was young. Well, _younger_ anyway. He could easily be manipulated. Stiles could try to get friendly with him and then maybe, maybe _,_ he would feel bad for Stiles, let him go.

 

 _Yes, good plan Stiles._ he thought to himself, building his confidence up by the minute. He would wait for a bit though. He wouldn't want to seem to eager. So, copying Elliot, he slid down the side of the car, wincing in pain as he did so, and sat down, letting his thoughts drift.

 

It had been four days from Stiles judgement, that he had been missing. Four days. They'll obviously know he was missing by now, but what about leads? Would they have found the house he was first at? Did that mean they'd found Jacks body? It had passed the 48 hour mark meaning most people would have stopped looking so thoroughly by now. But Stiles knew his dad wouldn't stop looking. He would never stop.

 

His Dad. Stiles' heart clenched as he thought about him. He hadn't realised how much he missed him. How much he missed his presence. Stiles even missed his nagging. What he wouldn't give right now to be back in his arms.

 

Then there was Lydia. The girl of Stiles' dreams. As much as he denied it, he couldn't push the feeling away. He couldn't ignore what was once a child crush that was now teen and almost adult love. Yeah there was Malia, but stiles could never feel the same about her as he did Lydia. Stiles loved Lydia. Every time he thought of her strawberry-blond locks and stunning smile that only she has his stomach churned with butterflies and his face lifted.

 

Thinking of being home now hurt more than Stiles would have liked. He couldn't move a limb with out sending tendrils of pain spiralling throughout his week and feeble body. His face was bruised and bloody and his stomach protested against the lack of contents. He wanted so badly to be back at home having a movie marathon with Scott and his Dad by his side.

 

His eyes started to sting the more he thought of home. But he refused to let the tears spill. He would not show himself up weak against these men. He would escape. He would get home.

 

Snapping out of his daze, Stiles rubbed at his eyes and approached Elliot who was still sat by the tree. He was wearing black jeans, a white tee and a red jacket which was flapping in the slight breeze. He stared with sapphire blue eyes as Stiles joined him by the oak tree, before returning his gaze to a spot deep within the forrest.

 

"What d'you want?" Elliot murmured. He sat with one knee up and his arms holding it to his chest. It struck stiles again how young this boy was and he suddenly felt guilty for using him. But it had to be done. He wasn't going anywhere whilst in the company of viktor or Deucalion.

 

"You looked stressed. Thought you'd want to talk." Stiles answered honestly, the teen did look troubled. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was twisted into a frown. The expression gave him creases on his youthful face. Elliot sighed, something was definitely bothering him.

 

"Yeah well, you thought wrong. I don't need anyone to talk to, I'm fine with my thoughts." He bit back, his expression changing to one of annoyance. But Stiles knew it was just for show, that behind the fake facade, there was a secret dying to be told. Stiles looked at him with a disbelieving exterior. Man, he was a worse liar than Scott and boy, was that saying something.

 

"I believe you as much as I believe pigs can fly. You're practically screaming for someone to talk to." Stiles countered. As much as he wanted out of this situation he equally wanted to find out what Elliot was hiding. He could see the desperation to spill was tempting the teens mind but something overpowering was holding him back. Fear maybe? "Tell me what's wrong and don't try to deny it because I've had to deal with alpha werewolves, kanimas, were-jaguars and any other supernatural creature you can think of, and my only advance power is to tell when someone's lying. Besides, its written all over your face, you might wanna invest in some acting sessions, maybe that will, you know, sort out that bad lying problem." Stiles advised looking down at his hands.

 

"And why of all people should I tell you?" Elliot turned to face Stiles, his serrated hair rigid in the wind that was now picking up.

 

"Why of all people would you tell Deucalion or Viktor? No matter how friendly you get, they're not the type of people you sit down with and tell all your darkest thoughts. They're the type of people who kill when and where they want." He paused taking a breath and getting his words together. "Look, from what I can tell of your situation, I'm the only one you can relate to. Can talk to."

 

"You don't know anything about my situation." He whispered,closing his eyes and looking down.

 

"Then tell me! I'm asking you. Tell me. Trust me I know a hell load of people who would be willing to help with whatever it is that's wrong." Stiles stopped again, giving Elliot time to think before carrying on. "How old are you? Hmm? Because you look young. Yet you still look wise enough to make a good decision. And teaming with Deucalion? That's not a good decision. Tell me and I can help you." Stiles finished, and with the silence that followed he knew that he had won. That this was the start to his escape.

 

Elliot just sat there staring at Stiles, not saying anything for a while going through phases of playing with his fingers and looking out into space then facing Stiles again. "I'm 15, and my sister Lucy? She's 6. 6! Our parents died a couple years ago and I had to look after her. Supernatural ability runs through our family, we were born like this, meaning we couldn't go into foster care because they would find out we were different and we would eventually be killed by hunters. So we had to go on our own path. Look for a pack. "We found one about a year back but," He let out a sad laugh, "Lucy said she didn't like it with them because they all looked scary. Which was kinda true, they were a little ruff on the outside but that ment we were back on the streets. But anyway, a couple of months ago, we were in this small town and were passing a play park..."

* * *

_"Please Elli!" Lucy whined, pulling on her brothers hand yanking towards the gates of the park, the slide and swings were only meters away and it was as if they were calling out to her. "Only for five minutes! I swear! Pretty please with a cherry on top!" She pleaded, fiddling with the buttons on her white summers dress._

 

_Her persistence was starting to get on Elliott's nerves, or as Lucy called him: Elli. The only reason she really called him that was because as a baby 'Elliot' was to hard to get her tongue round and 'Elli' just kind of stuck. He knew exactly how this was going to play out. Five minutes would turn into an hour and before you knew it, it was dark and the park was closing. But you couldn't say no to a 6 year old._

 

_"Fine! but only five minutes and I mean it this time!" He said with a stern expression, but soon enough the smile broke through,"Go on then!" He laughed as he watched her scramble through the gate and run strait to the slide. As for Elliot, he went and found a bench to sit on where he could keep an eye on his sister._

 

_"Are you watching Elli?! Look!" She giggled as she slid down the slide, her long golden hair flowing behind her._

 

_"I'm watching" He called out to her. As soon as she'd reached the end he clapped and then glanced around the area. The park contained a set of swings, (which Lucy had now taken to) a slide and a seesaw. It was in the middle if a field and it was deserted bar the siblings. So when he heard the shouts of commotion he was quick to his feet._

 

_He crossed the park and stood by the gates, closer to the sound, leaving Lucy playing behind him. He scanned the area and saw nothing. But something didn't seem right. He took his time whilst glancing round the land making sure not to miss a thing, looking out for anything odd. Soon enough, Elliot decided that it wasn't safe for them to be making stops._

 

_"Hey Lucy, come on, we have to go." He said before turning round. But it wasn't just Lucy he turned to face. Stood in the middle on the park was a group of men all leering at Elliot. There had to be around ten men altogether, creating a semi-circle around the man the middle, giving the impression that he was their leader. He looked back to his sister who was still happily playing on the swings, just beside the group of men._

 

_"Hello there, Elliot." The main man said. He was tall and intimidating, with dark eyes and a proud posture. Alarm bells were ringing loud and clear in Elliott's head. Not only did this guy know his name but there were many more of them than there were of him. He needed to get Lucy and himself away from here as quick as possible._

 

_"And you might be?" he asked, natural inquiry in his tone._

 

_"Deucalion. And this is my pack. Which you will be joining." He stated. Not asked. Sated. And that was it for Elliot. He needed to leave. Everyone of the supernatural world had heard of Deucalion, he was not the guy you want to befriend. There had been many stories told to Elliot about the crimes Deucalion had committed and he wasn't about to help with them._

 

_"Lucy, let's go." Elliot ordered and started to move towards her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Deucalion turn to one of his men and whisper something in his ear. What he said was unknown to Elliot but the thought was soon out of his head as he watched the same man step forward and grab Lucy round the waist. "LUCY!" Elliot immediately whipped into action. Charging towards the man who had Lucy thrown over his shoulder. The poor girl was kicking and screaming in his grip. Shrieking out "ELLI" Over and over again._

 

_Just before Elliot could reach her, however, the rest of the men swarmed around him, preventing him from going any further. This didn't stop him from trying though. He fought tooth and nail to get through the hurd of men to his struggling sister, who was now just outside the park. He could hear her cries and shouts of protest, each one breaking his heart a little more, knowing he couldn't do anything to stop it. He watched as the man threw Lucy into a black van and drove off. Yet he still fought and shouted desperately trying to get to her._

 

_Slowly his futile attempts weakened and he finally calmed down. He turned round to face Deucalion, making sure he did his share of glaring. He took deep breaths as he stood there, hating Deucalion's smug face more and more by the second. Just a few moments ago he'd been smiling at his sisters energy and now he felt empty with a cold spot in his chest. What had just happened? Where had they come from? How did they get there so fast?_

 

 _"I'll say it again, shall I? You_ will _join my pack."_

* * *

 "I let this happen, it's my fault. I should have tried harder." Elliot breathed, finishing his story. Stiles couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He certainly hadn't expected anything like that. But he didn't believe for one second that this was his fault. Of course there was a chance of him to be lying, but Stiles was pretty sure that no one could look that sad if they tried and the hurt in his eyes just topped it off.

 

"No."

 

"What?"

 

"No. It wasn't your fault it was Deucalion's. Now stand up." Stiles himself had risen and held out his hand for Elliot to take. He was going to make his point and it was going to be clear. But to do that he needed a demonstration. Hastily, the younger boy took his hand and was just about to stand up strait when Stiles pushed him back down again, a few annoyed groans escaping.

 

"Was that your fault?" Stiles asked.

 

"No, but that's-"

 

"Was that your fault?" Stiles asked again as he watched Elliot climb to his feet. He could see he understood what Stiles was doing but he still didn't believe it.

 

"No" He confirmed, straightening his t-shirt and wiping off the mud.

 

"Okay, now punch me." Stiles said. "But imagine that you were really angry because...I don't know, your girlfriend was cheating on you, why not? And you want to lash out, and I'm the closest to you. So you hit me." He explained, hoping that Elliot would benefit from this as it was gonna hurt something special, on top of all his other injuries. It took effort to just stand.

 

"What? I'm not gonna punch you!" Elliot protested, shaking his head. He got where Stiles was coming from and he really didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. He was pale, bruised and cut and he looked as if he were about to collapse at any minute. His lips were chapped and drooping bags outlined his eyes, he didn't look like he would _survive_ a punch to the face.

 

"Oh come on! Deucalion's gonna be expecting fresh bruises any way, so just do it!" Stiles braced himself for what was coming, this was going to hurt but it was worth it. This was towards his escape. And Elliott's. He needed to escape just as much as Stiles did. He needed to find Lucy, and he would, with Stiles' help.

 

"Fine!" Elliot shouted as he swung his arm and connected with Stiles' jaw. His head snapped to the side and the corner of his mouth started to bleed. Stiles used the back if his hand to wipe away the blood and rotated his jaw. Elliot thought something was wrong when Stiles didn't say anything at first but the panic faded when he saw the smile forming on the older boys face.

 

"Nice! Completely forgot you were a werewolf! Now, was that my fault?" Stiles asked, still rotating his jaw. That had hurt way more than he was expecting but it was for a good cause. Elliot scoffed and his eyes were big in surprise.

 

"Uhhh, yeah, kinda, seeing as you asked me to hit you!" He pointed out and was surprised when Stiles started to laugh. It was the first time he had heard him laughing and was confused as to why he was, it seemed like the worst situation to laugh in. "Use your imagination, idiot! Your girlfriend dumped your ass, remember!" Stiles smirked and patted Elliot, who was now wearing a grin himself, on the back. Elliot was starting to grow on Stiles, it may not be so hard for Stiles to escape as his situation was one similar to Stiles' and if he could be persuaded they could work together.

 

Elliot was a good kid. One who shouldn't have to sacrifice his life because of one guy. And Stiles' was willing to help him out.

 

A couple of hours passed and the sky was getting lighter. Stiles hadn't realised how long he'd gone without sleep for, but when Elliot asked when the last time he slept, a wave of tiredness washed over him and his head started to ache. Stiles was just in the middle of a sentence when Elliot jumped to his feet, looking alert.

 

"What is it?" Stiles asked, climbing to his feet. Elliott's senses were much more powerful than Stiles' and so he wasn't able to sense what Elliot could. he scanned the area but his eyes couldn't see anything with the light provided by the moon. All he could hear were the birds that were only just awakening.

 

"They're coming back." Elliot cried, looking panicked, the fear was evident in his voice. Stiles nodded, slightly disappointed that his time with Elliot would now be over and it would go back to silence and boredom. Stiles moved at a brisk pace back to the car, Elliot right beside him.

 

"Where's the handcuffs Deucalion gave you?" Stiles started sitting down by the door of the car. Elliot reached into his pocket and threw the metal cuffs into Stiles' lap. "If you want to get away you need to get on his good side and to do that you need to hate me, okay?" Stiles explained whilst securing one of his wrists to the car handle with the handcuffs. He looked at Elliott's scarred expression and tried to smile but it was weak and non-convincing. "You gotta hit me again then go stand at the front of the car." He ordered, receiving a nod from the teen.

 

"I'm sorry." Elliot whispered before drawing his arm back and hitting home. Stiles slammed back against the car. He could feel blood rush from his nose and his lips split. His breaths quickened and he felt his cheek swell. He nodded slowly and watched as Elliot took his position at the front of the vehicle. His vision started to cloud at the edges and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He'd spent to much energy without food or sleep. He couldn't turn his head to watch Deucalion approach because of the throbbing that came with his every move, so instead he just looked out into the forrest and waited.

 

He hadn't waited long when he heard the hasty footsteps closing in. "It's all over the news. They've found the house and it won't be long until they find this place. We have to move on."

 

Deucalion's voice drifted to his ears and he didn't sound all to happy. Elliot didn't say anything in return and Stiles had half a thought that he'd frozen over, but then his slouched form walked in font of him. He bent down to unlock Stiles' wrist and risked whispering "Be careful, he's angry" before grabbing his shirt and yanking his upwards.

 

Pain exploded throughout his body, he couldn't help but let a hiss escaped his mouth. Before he could recover, however, Deucalion had pushed him against the car and grabbed a hold of his chin.

 

"You had better keep your gob shut, I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic remarks. We wouldn't have to leave so soon if it weren't for you." He spat, using the grip on his chin to toss him aside. Stiles had to throw out a hand on the car to keep himself steady. He couldn't help the smirk that twisted it's way onto his face.

 

"I'm terribly sorry to be such an inconvenience to you." Stiles said with fake enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He now couldn't stand without the support of the car behind him and his vision had almost completely turned black. He was also pretty sure his words came out slurred and barely audible but apparently Deucalion understood, given away by the fuming expression plastered on his face.

 

"Put him in the boot. I haven't got the patients to be traveling with that." He growled and Viktor, who Stiles hadn't even realised was there, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him to the back of the car, yanked open the boot and threw the teen in. Stiles put up no fight as he simply had no energy to do so.

 

It was then that Stiles' vision went completely and his world turned black. Weather that was because Viktor had slammed the boot shut or weather his body had finally had enough, Stiles didn't know and frankly, he didn't care as sleep overcame him, and he welcomed it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! A bit of Elliott's background in this, the next chapters involves what Deucalion wants! I have the next one ready but it needs tweaking so hopefully it should be ready soon! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Thanks for all the comments and kudos you guys gave me! This is a chapter completely from Stiles' POV. Enjoy!

If there was one thing he'd learnt whilst dealing with the supernatural, it was that sleep was seriously underrated. There had been several occasions in which Stiles had been deprived of sleep, the nogitsune being number one on the list and the present day coming close in second. Stiles had woken up from his slumber not too long ago, his eyelids heavy and his head thundering, wishing he'd been able to get a few more winks before facing reality once more.

 

That's one thing he was going to do when he got out of this... _if_ he got out of this. He was going to spend days, weeks, just watching films and sleeping. Maybe he could even get Scott to finally watch the Star Wars films. The image of them submerged in sweet wrappers and crisp packets, fast asleep on the sofa whilst the credits played brought a smile to his face. A gesture he hadn't managed in a while.

 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Stiles looked up at the room, well… cupboard, in which he was sitting. It couldn't have been more than a meter wide and 2 meters long, with dull walls painted cream and a rough, stone floor. The ceiling was coated in a black mould and a metal pipe ran around the cupboard floor. Stiles' knee length coat was scrunched up into a ball, in use as a make-do pillow, leaving him in just his blue checked shirt, plain white top and tight blue jeans.

 

He reeled his mind back to when he was placed, or rather shoved, in this dingy room. He'd woken up in the boot of the car when light of the early morning sun spilled into the small trunk. He remembered the hands that had dragged him out. Viktor's. God he hated that guy. He could still feel his stomach turning from the sudden movement, eyes protesting from quick change in light. There was conversation but Stiles hadn't been listening. He was too busy, firstly desperately trying to keep the bile from creeping up his throat and secondly, observing his surroundings.

 

They had been in an abandoned street. The type you would try to avoid late at night whilst walking home alone. Cliché much? The buildings were rough and old and rubbish had littered the ground, skittering across the floor in the slight breeze. They'd headed towards a building of flats, gone to the third floor and entered apartment number 42. The state of the inside of the building was pretty much the same as Stiles's cupboard. Cramped, mouldy, and to put it bluntly, it stunk. It smelled as if something had died there, not that Stiles would be surprised if something had, not installing much confidence in him.

 

The front room wasn't much. From what Stiles could remember, it must have been the living room with just a round table in the middle, a red material sofa in the far left corner and a square window in the right. Stiles hadn't had a chance to look at any of the other rooms as he had been jerked to the right and thrown to the floor of his cupboard. He remembered crawling to the corner, sliding off his coat and resting his head down on his 'pillow' before slipping into a dreamless slumber.

 

Bringing Stiles back to his current situation. He did a quick body check for any serious injuries. Asides from the completely swollen left side of his face, the severe aches throughout his entire body, and from what Stiles tell was probably several broken ribs, all was well.

 

He cautiously brought himself to his feet, the sick feeling having made residence in Stiles' gut. Having been exhausted before, Stiles had just made himself as comfortable as he possibly could with what little he had, and had passed out.

 

Now, feeling a little more energized, he was ready to work things out. He stumbled over to the door, not bothering to twist the handle; he'd heard it click earlier. He scanned the floor for anything he could pick the lock with. Nothing. Just _great_. Instead, he pressed his ear to the splintered wood and listened out for any mumble of conversation. There were no obvious sounds of people talking but Stiles could hear the faint tunes of the radio drifting through to his ears. Nothing interesting.

 

Stiles was just about to pull back when the door gave a click and swung open, revealing Elliot stood in the frame. Stiles yelped and jumped back in surprise, a hand flying to his racing heart.

 

"Wow kid!" Stiles cried, "No one ever teach you how to knock?"

 

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump. But I heard you wake up and thought you might want some food. But first, there's a toilet just opposite, go clean yourself up, you look dead." He snickered moving out of Stiles' sight. Stiles looked ahead; there was the door, just across the room. He hadn't seen himself in days. Did he really look that bad? Well, only one way to find out...

 

He stumbled to the door, shoving it open. Stiles looked to his left, and there staring back at him was his own, eerie reflection. He looked worse than anything he'd imagined. His skin was ghostly pale and dry, his cheeks had hollowed out, leaving protruding bones casting shadows. However, his left side was red and inflamed and welts cut deep. A dark purple bruise coloured his right eye almost hiding the black bags drooping down his face. Almost. Smears of dried blood covered his face, most evident around his nose. He slowly reached up to the corner of his head where, just behind the hair line, there was a large wound that had crusted over in an attempt to heal.

 

He ran the tap, which was below the mirror, cupped his hands and flicked the water in his face. He relished in the coolness of the liquid dripping from his nose and chin. After gently washing himself clean, he joined Elliot in the kitchen which was next to the cupboard.

 

"I made you a sandwich earlier, I hope you like tuna." Elliot smiled as he opened the door to the fridge that was stacked on top of what Stiles assumed to be the freezer in the far left corner. A plastic work surface lined the wall next to it with a cooker underneath. In the centre of the kitchen was a round table identical to the one in the first room. It was small and bare and the green stains on the walls were off putting, but Stiles had eaten so little for so long, that nothing could make him pass up the opportunity for proper food.

 

"Dude seriously, you could put anything in front of me right now and I wouldn't think twice about eating it." Stiles moved to sit down at the table whilst Elliot laughed and placed the sandwich on a plate and on the table surface. The sad truth was though, that Stiles actually wasn't kidding. His stomach had become a wild animal, growling and clawing to get out of its cage. He eyed the sandwich, debating whether he could keep the food down or if it would just come spewing back up, but the animal inside him won over and Stiles started to eat.

 

He savoured the taste, taking slow bites to give his stomach time to digest.

 

"So where are the others?" Stiles said round a mouth full of tuna. He was certain Elliot hadn't had permission from Deucalion to do this going from the man’s previous mood, so that must mean he wasn't in the building, Elliot wouldn't risk being caught. At least that's what Stiles hoped.

 

"They went out, said he had to do 'business'."

 

Their chat went on from there. Stiles told Elliot about Beacon Hills and about Scott, about how he could help Elliot when they get away from here. In return, Elliot told Stiles about Lucy. From the sounds of it, she was just as innocent as Elliot. If he could just get closer to Elliot to persuade him to leave. Obviously Deucalion trusted him enough to leave him alone so it should be easy theoretically. He could save them all.

 

And so, over the next week that past, that was the plan Stiles worked on. Each day dragged on and Deucalion remained oblivious to the meetings the pair had whilst he and Viktor travelled places beyond Stiles' knowledge. God knows where they went or what they did but every day, without fail, the two would leave the apartment and Elliot and Stiles would build on their already brotherly relationship.

 

With each new day Stiles felt his energy levels rise and his strength filtering back into his muscles. Not saying he looked good or well, but better. And better, for now, was all he had and needed. He did wish he had something to occupy him though as staring at four moulded walls of a cramped cupboard was by no means entertaining!

 

It had been 8 days since his confrontation with Jack and Deucalion and 11 since he was taken from the woods. Everything had been quite low key for a while, but of course, as it ways does, the scale tipped and not for the good.

 

Elliot had come to get him from his cupboard at the usual time, Stiles would use the bathroom and then he’d meet the younger teen in the kitchen, a ham sandwich awaiting him on the table.

 

Elliot watched stiles devour the sandwich bite by bite. When he was finished he took the plate and slid it into a sink that was moulded into the plastic work surface. It was now or never.

 

"Let's leave" Stiles blurted out, deciding now was a good time to put his plan in action. “There’s no one here. The door is right out there. We could be miles away by the time Deucalion ever realises were gone." Elliot stiffened. Stiles knew it wasn't going to be easy to persuade him, but he had to take this chance. It could be any day that Deucalion felt like he was trusting Elliot too much and decides he's not going to leave the two alone. What have they got then?

 

"No" came the curt reply. Elliot rested his hands on the plastic surface, clenching them into to fists every now and then.He faced the wall, away from Stiles.

 

"Why? Don’t you want to be free again? I _know_ you want to leave just as much as I do!" Stiles argued. Slowly standing up and cautiously walking forward. Stiles expected this at first, but he was sure he could bring Elliot around enough to trust him.

 

"I said no!" Elliot said, his voice rising. His eyes glowed as his insides bubbled with frustration. He could see Stiles behind him; take a steady step back, his breath hitch. Wise. He turned back to face Stiles.

 

Stiles was true to his word though. There was nothing more he wanted right now, than to be set free. Than to see Luc-

 

"He can't risk it." Stiles swung round his heart thumping with adrenalin. Deucalion stood in the door way, his eyes fixed on Elliott's back, a smug look plastered on his face. He was back early...crap. "Can't risk the life of his little baby sister, isn't that right Elliot? You see, Stiles, he knows that if he even _attempts_ to make a move, he will never see Lucy again. A wise choice to make if you ask me."

 

Deucalion had walked to the centre of the room, stood so he had a view of both Stiles and Elliot. He looked as if he were enjoying himself. It took all of Stiles' will to not punch the guy in the face. Of course, there would be not point as the wolf had amazing reflexes and if it were anything like the time he hit Derek back into consciousness (On more than one occasion, he might add) he'd most likely hurt himself more than Deucalion. It also wasn't any help that Stiles was frozen stiff with fear. Panic pumping through his veins.

 

"Now," Deucalion began, startling Stiles back into reality, "because I am in such a good mood," Was a 'good mood' even possible with him? "I'm willing to overlook the fact that you" he rounded on Stiles, that grin still curling his lips, "are not where I left you." Out of the corner of his eye Stiles could see Elliott slouch in relief, letting out a held breath.

 

"Besides, I needed to talk to you anyway." And there, the fear came rushing back.

 

He followed Deucalion out of the room. Sat at the table, was Viktor and to his displeasure, Deucalion joined the hideous man, pulling up a chair and waving for Stiles to do the same. Glaring, he complied.

 

Across the table were papers in stacks and a laptop in the centre. As Viktor sorted out the mess on the table, Deucalion sat and stared at Stiles. Would he ever quit that? Stiles stared back, squinting his eyes a little as he did so, mockingly.

 

"What, are you just gonna sit there and stare at me all day? What do you want?" He hissed not letting his eyes stray. He could see Deucalion's line of sight linger on the several wounds and scares Stiles beard. The corner of his lips twitched into a small, cruel smile knowing that he helped put them there. Stiles' anger towards the man grew, oh how he'd love to see him fall.

 

"You said you wanted to know why you're here, why I chose you, not Scott or anyone with any supernatural power. You must be wondering why I chose you over them because they clearly are more advance and skilful than you -"

 

"It's okay, I don't have feelings"

 

"-And that's just the truth. Well Stiles, now you will get your answer. But first you have to think. Think about all the different types of supernatural creatures out there and how many. Thousands? Millions? _Think_. There has to be someone in charge, hasn't there?"

 

Stiles' eyes widened at the sudden realisation of his goals. He wanted that title. ‘Deucalion: Ruler of the Supernatural World’. Of course. How much more power can a man get? He rolled his eyes, letting out a forced breath.

 

"There's a group of people called The Shadows. There are four of them. I don’t know all of them, only one." He slid a photo across the table to Stiles. It was of a woman in her late 20's, with bleach blond hair and round, green eyes. She was small but pretty none the less. Her name 'Ella Edwards' was displayed in bold letters across the top. "They all work together to control the supernatural. They have a special power, like mind compulsion, over them. But they're powerless to humans."

 

"So what? You're gonna use me as some kind of key? A weapon?" Stiles asked, not liking where it was all going.

 

Deucalion leaned forward on the table, "Oh, trust me Stiles; you wouldn't be a good enough weapon if you had the army on your side. No, I need you to get me more information. All that I told you, that's all we know. And it's not enough. We need to know who else is in it. How they have that control. How to stop them. We need you to get as much information on this as you can.

 

"But you'd be surprised at how hard it was to get what little information we have. This is a very discrete operation. Only a select few of my pack and, obviously, the shadows know about it.

 

"And we also have the pressure of time, as it won't be long until they figure out what we know, and they come and find us there selves."

 

Once he'd finished, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Stiles' gaze turned to Viktor. He was peering at Stiles with questioning eyes, as if he didn't think Stiles was the man for the job. Well it's not like he asked to be there!

 

"And how am I supposed to retrieve this information?" He focused back on Deucalion, wanting so badly to just rip the smug look off his face. There were no words to express how much he wanted to be away from the man.

 

"Oh don’t you worry about that, we have something in mind. But for now, we're all gonna go out for a little wonder. And who knows, maybe we might cross paths with Miss. Edwards whilst we're out." His smirk grew, making the urge to rip it off even stronger.

 

Stiles thought about what he'd been told for a moment. He didn't know what he had in mind for that Ella girl, but going by Deucalion's history, it wasn't going to be anything good. And unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could do about that. He wasn't the one calling the shots and neither was Elliot.

 

As if his name had set off a trigger, an idea popped into the confessed mess of thoughts that was Stiles' mind.

 

"Okay. I will do whatever you ask _if_ , and _only_ if, you do something in return." Deucalion looked as if he was about to object but Stiles was already way ahead of him.

 

"And yes, I am in the position to negotiate because you can sit here all day and fill my head with empty threats, but at the end of the day, you and I both know we've got more miles between where we are now and Beacon Hills than we have with the moon. So, if we really are in the rush you say we are, then sadly, you don’t have the time to run back home and play killing spree. So I suggest you buckle down and listen to what I have to say."

 

The room went silent. It was tense and everyone looked quite surprised. Heck, Stiles even surprised himself. But he wouldn't back down from this. He promised himself that.

 

"What do you have in mind?" Deucalion sighed after several moments of awkward silence. Stiles sat up in his chair, he honestly thought Deucalion would have put up more of a fight. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the table.

 

"You let Elliot and Lucy go."

 

Elliot entered the room at the mention of his name; no doubt he'd been listening in on the conversation.

 

Deucalion's face was expressionless at first but then the corners of his mouth started to twitch and a smile formed that gradually escalated to a quiet laugh. Not the reaction Stiles was hoping for if he was perfectly honest.

 

"You're not serious" he chuckled, but when Stiles' face didn't change, his smirk faded. "No" he sat upright in his chair and obtained a posture that made it clear that he was the authoritative figure. It was obvious who was in charge here.

 

"Why?! He is literally of no use to you. You use him to do what 'keep guard'? A three year old could do that job, and do it pretty successfully." He paused. Did he just insult himself? …nahhh.

 

He wouldn't give up on this. At least one of them should be free, and if Elliot wasn't going to risk running off with him then this was the next best thing.

 

"There's got to be something else you want? A book? New clothes? I mean you look filthy" He stood up gesturing to the state the boy in front of him wearing a wicked grin. He tucked his chair under the table and rested his hands on the back.

 

"No! I don’t want anything else! Deucalion, he's too young. He's 15! When I was 15, my biggest concern was weather Lydia Martin had a crush on me or not...it was the or not bit by the way" He added awkwardly, turning to Elliot, hoping to have placed a smile on him face. But instead his eyebrows were pinched with worry and he was nibbling at the corner of his mouth.

 

He shifted back towards Deucalion.

 

"Point is he shouldn't have to go through all this panic and worry." Stiles rambled on giving point after point on why this should happen but each point stiles let spill was pushed to the side as Deucalion and Viktor rose from their seats. Deucalion slid on his knee length coat and leaned on the chair in front of him, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

 

"Stiles stop!" Deucalion commanded. His tone rang out clear and authoritative setting a thick silence within the room. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles could see Elliot bow his head in fear, cowering away from a man who had said only two words. Stiles (who hadn't even realised that during his little speech had risen) however, stood tall, refusing to fall prey to the power Deucalion held. He did stop talking though. He didn't know what it was but something just told him he talked a little too much.

 

Stiles knew exactly why Deucalion didn't want to let Elliot go. It was because he didn't want Elliot to go off and tell someone where they were. Deucalion had made it quite clear that Stiles was quite important to him at this point and didn't need another problem in his path. And in any other circumstance, Stiles would be quite honoured.

 

"At least let him be with Lucy until you're done with me and then let them go." Still, Stiles had no response. Deucalion's eyes were doubtful, he moved his gaze to where Elliot stood. There was no emotion in his expression, just that of business. His cold stare couldn't care if the teen was being deprived of his so deeply craved normal(ish) life. But only if he himself could make use of the boy.

 

And that was what really hit Stiles in the chest. Everyone needed someone who would love and care for them. Hell knows what would have happened to Stiles if he didn't have his dad to look out for him.

 

To tell him when he'd made a stupid choice or to make those stupid choices for him. Stiles could feel the hope bubbling in Elliot, in his friend. It all just depended on Deucalion now. The wolf shook his head and closed his eyes, and for a moment, Stiles thought his request was going to be denied. He thought he was really going to have to witness the disappointment pulling at the younger boys face and the anger at Stiles for letting him believe he could actually get to see Lucy once more. But then:

 

"fine"

 

Elliott's head whipped up. The look of shock and disbelief was plastered on his face. His body dropped, as if letting out a held breath. Stiles smiled at the teen, who was finally allowing himself to relax.

 

"Fine" The man repeated, "You'll come with us and we'll take you to her. I want to be gone in the next five minutes so get your things. Not that you have much." Stiles could sense he was not particularly happy about the arrangement but hell load he could do now!

 

The sudden realisation of what he was going to be losing now hit him. And it hit him hard. It was sure gonna be a lot harder without Elliot there. It was probably to do with some psychic power sort of thing but Stiles was certain he wouldn't be having a nice long chat over a tuna sandwich with Deucalion any time soon.

 

Deucalion and Viktor busied themselves, packing away what was littering the table preparing to move out. Stiles took this as a chance to say his goodbyes to Elliot as he was sceptical that he'd be allowed in the car journey. But before he could go too far, Viktor stopped him, chucking the handcuffs to him not too kindly.

 

"Don’t want to be taking any chances, now do we?" The beast snarled, revealing his crooked, yellow teeth, earning a mocking grin from Stiles in return. The man bugged him.

 

Stiles moved back into the kitchen, Elliot following behind. Stiles stopped in front of the counter, turning round and handing Elliot, who had sealed the door behind him, the cuffs.

 

The boy looked down at the glimmering rings of metal in his hands and smiled. That was definitely something Stiles was going to miss, the warm smile that put the Sun to shame.

 

"Thank you, Stiles" The boy choked out, tears brimming his deep blue eyes.

 

"Hey save all that for when you see Lucy." Stiles motioned to the single tear trailing a glistening path down his worn face. Elliot raised a hand to his face and washed away any evidence, letting out a single laugh as he did so. And then, before he knew what was happening, they were hugging, a final goodbye hug.

 

"Don't worry about me, my Dad will come. And then we’ll come find you." Stiles whispered in Elliott's ear before pulling back and giving him a reassuring smile.

 

Stiles turned round and crossed his hands behind his back, feeling the cold metal bite into his coarse skin, binding his wrist together. Then facing Elliot again, he let the boy escort him back through to Deucalion and Viktor.

 

"What, no suitcase of memories? How disappointing" Deucalion teased, sliding a satchel over his shoulder. He and Viktor were waiting but the door, ready to leave.

 

"Nothing I'd want to keep to remind me of you" Stiles snorted, feeling a sense of pride. _I have taught him well._ The pair stopped at the door with the others. Viktor was checking his watch and Deucalion was straightening his collar. Everything was as if it was on standstill and Stiles soon felt awkward.

 

"Well unless you'd like to host a mothers meeting, I suggest we leave" Stiles said, somewhat sarcastically. He glanced up, surprised to see Viktor scowling at him with nothing but pure hatred in his murky eyes. _Trust me buddy, the feeling mutual_.

 

The sound of the door opening brought Stiles’, and Viktor's as it seems, attention back. Deucalion motioned for Stiles and Elliot to exit first, then Deucalion, finally leaving Viktor to lock the door shut behind them. The group made their way down through the collection of shabby flats, making sure to stay clear of prying eyes.

 

They left the building and parked just outside was the same black Mercedes from before, glistening in the light of the mid-day Sun. Despite the Sun's prominence, the air was harshly cold, pinching at Stiles' bare skin, a reminder that he'd left behind his coat. Stiles took a deep breath of the fresh air, filling his lungs. He never really was one for staying inside too long.

 

Elliot opened the backseat door for Stiles, helping him in and then sitting beside him. Viktor, once again, appeared to be driving, leaving the passenger seat free for Deucalion. Once everyone was seated, the vehicle roared into action and it pulled away. Away from the street. Twisting through towns and villages, lefts and rights.

 

Stiles sat awkwardly, his cuffed hands causing discomfort. He failed to see what the point of the handcuffs were, it's not like he can go anywhere anyway. With Viktor watching his every move and the fact that they were in a car! They were rendered useless.

 

After roughly 30 minutes of travelling, they pulled into a circle of rich, luxurious houses. There were roughly 10 in total, leaving a large green area in the middle. Trees lined the grassy ground, casting shadows over people sitting happily on benches, their eyes transfixed by an alluring water fountain as the centre piece. Families sat with picnics as young children ran, laughing with cheery smiles.

 

The image reminded Stiles of when his mum was alive, before the dementia. They would go on family trips to places just like this. He remembered playing football with his dad whilst his mum watched, sitting next to a basket full of all sorts of food. And once Stiles had completely rid himself of all his energy, he'd speed over and she'd have a salt crisp butty and tropical juice waiting, just how he liked it.

 

Riding the memory from his mind, Stiles turned to Elliot who was frantically searching the groups of people, not spending more than a second on each group if he didn't find who he was searching for. But then his eyes settled and the corners of his mouth twisted upwards.

 

The car had hardly stopped in the parking spot when the teen leaped out and broke into a run, yelling his sister’s name, eyes locked on a certain point. Stiles followed his stare to where a small girl in a little pink dress stood next to another woman who, Stiles thought, must be standing guard. Lucy's golden hair was pulled into two pig tails at either side of her round head.

 

Stiles watched out the window as Elliot finally reached her. He collapsed onto his knees, falling to her level so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He picked Lucy up by her waist, holding the girl in a tight embrace.

 

He was distracted from his viewing of the reunion when Deucalion said something along the lines of "Watch him, I'll be back in a moment." he stepped out of the car and walked towards Elliot, Lucy and the woman who stood guard.

 

It was silent within the car, an awkward silence that Stiles felt the need he had to break.He popped his head through the middle of the two front seats, staring straight ahead. "Mmm. Alone time with Viktor. You know, that should be a TV show, craken name! What d'you think?"

 

Stiles got no answer, just the back of Viktor's fist in his face causing Stiles to fall back into the seats. Wrinkling his noes Stiles said "Fine we can change the name! What do you want to call it?"

 

Viktor still didn't move his head keeping his gaze focused in what was going on with Deucalion. "How about 'shut up or I'll give you a black eye as well as a bloody noes'?"

 

Stiles squinted his eyes tossing his head back and forth in speculation. "Hmm, I dunno, it doesn't have the same ring to it, you know?" This time Viktor did turn round glaring daggers strait at stiles. "Shutting up" Stiles said with a single nod of his head.

 

They waited for 5 minutes until Deucalion turned back round and headed for the car. The woman led Elliot and Lucy into one of the houses where, Stiles guessed, they would stay until they were let free. At least they are together. The door shut behind them and Elliot was gone.

 

And then they were on the road again. Not a word was spoken. Only the sound of tyres on the road and the engine whirring could be heard. The majority of Stiles was glad Elliot was back with Lucy and out of harm’s way. But a small, selfish part of him wanted the teen back so he wouldn't have to face Deucalion alone. He pushed that part of him away.

 

It was a shorter ride, but this time they ended up somewhere far less happy. Much like the place where the flat was. Dirty, cramped and abandoned. Just a street of buildings that made Stiles feel rather uneasy. However, his view was blocked when Viktor opened the door and pulled Stiles out. Stiles' head darted right at the first sound of commotion. Deucalion wasn't anywhere in sight and Stiles couldn't help but notice one of the doors to one of the houses was left agape, sounds of struggle drifting out.

 

Dread built up inside Stiles as he was tugged unwillingly towards the building, tripping several times.

 

When they were close enough Viktor kicked the door open pushing Stiles in. The teen stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance without the use of his hands. He kept his head down, dreading what was in front of him.

 

"Knock knock!" Viktor yelled as he himself entered through the door.

 

"Ah, Viktor what perfect timing!" Deucalion's voice rang out, "meet Ella, she's a werewolf, just like us." That last part gave Stiles courage to slowly look up as hopefully it meant there were no dead bodies. Not that he'd never seen one. Just that he hated having to see innocent people take a fall for no reason.

 

It was a normal room, rather messy with a desk and chair to his left and a clustered coat hanger to his right. The walls were a light brown and the floor was carpeted cream. But that's not what caught his attention. Nope!

 

What caught his attention was Deucalion hoisting up a limp frame of a petit woman, who obviously must have been Ella. She was alive. Stiles could tell from the frantic breathing and wild green eyes. She was just... paralyzed?

 

"Kanima venom does wonders! Ella, this is Stiles. Don't be fooled by his quietness, he could talk for the country. Quite annoying really" Deucalion murmured. Stiles through a glare his way, yanking at the cuffs. He watched Viktor move behind him, _probably making sure I don't run off_. However he was surprised when he felt the cuffs loosen up and his hands fell to his sides.

 

"It has come to my notice, Stiles, that you haven't had your initiation to join this pack yet. And we can't have that, so take this as your initiation. If you pass this task, and you will pass, you will be a full member of my pack. Now how does that sound? Good? Great. Viktor, if you will."

 

Stiles rubbed at his skin where the metal had left red marks, fearing what "task" he had to complete. Viktor stepped out from behind Stiles, shoving something into the palm of his hand. Panic riddled through him when Stiles processed what it was.

 

Ella's face paled as she too realized what her supposed fate was to be. "Now, obviously since you are of the supernatural world, any normal knife would be pointless as you'd heal within seconds. This is why this one is coated in a very rare type of wolf’s bane. _Kills_ within minutes." Deucalion whispered in the woman's ear smiling a sick smile when she let out a frightened sob.

 

"I know what you're doing" Stiles claimed, looking at Deucalion in disgust. "Is this why you do it? Why you kill innocent people? To get a sick thrill from their fear? Every day for a week you would leave the flat. Is this what you did?" He held up the knife, shaking his head, "I'm not going to stoop to your level" he let his arm fall to his side. How could Deucalion expect Stiles to do that? Something so cruel and inhumane.

 

"Tut tut tut, Stiles! You seem to be forgetting we have a deal. I've upheld my end, now it's time for you to do the same. Even if you have to have a little persuasion" He looked to Viktor and nodded.

 

Stiles didn't have the slightest clue as to what was going on but before he could try to get his head round it there was a hand on his back, shoving him forward and a foot in front of his, tripping him up. Stiles raised his hands in instinct to protect himself from the blow of falling to the floor. Forgetting about the knife clenched in his right hand.

 

The sound was one Stiles would never forget. The wet _thunk_ of the blade sinking into Ella's flesh. Her breath hitching as the poison spilled through her veins. It all happened in the blink of an eye.

 

Stiles let go of the handle, hands shaking in shock, blood dripping down his fingers. "No no no no" he repeated over and over again. Deucalion let go of his hold on her and she collapsed to the floor. The pair left the room doing god knows what, but not Stiles. Stiles fell to the floor next to Ella. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Oh god. Oh god what have I done" Stiles rambled, panic-stricken and not knowing what to do with his hands. He put them to her shoulder, to his forehead, mouth, gently to the wound. "What do I do!?"

 

"It's- It's Okay" Ella rasped out, her breathing was unsteady and she was losing a lot of blood. Fast. Denial started to kick in in Stiles' head, he knew what the outcome would be but he just couldn't accept it. He grabbed a hold of the handle again and pulled; with a clatter it hit the ground.

 

"Pressure right? I - I got to stop the b-bleeding." Stiles thought quickly, taking off his checked shirt and pressing down on the wound. He focused on his hands, not wanting to see her pale, frightened face.

 

Ella raised a bloody hand to Stiles' face and softly touched his cheek. Despite the pain in her eyes, she smiled. A tear rolled down her temple, but they weren't tears of sorrow or pain, "You look just like your mother" They were of joy. But the sincere smile faded and the pain in her eyes dulled as her arm fell to her side and her last breath escaped her lungs. She grew still.

 

"No! No no no. Please! You can't!" Stiles searched her face for any sign of movement or life. Her eyes once a bright green stared back at Stiles without seeing. Ella's pallid, vacant expression was one that was never going to leave Stiles' mind. One that would haunt his dreams for years to come. "I'm sorry"

 

Stiles ran a shaking hand through his hair, forgetting about the blood that covered it. He had to get it off. He looked up in search for a bathroom, sink, bottle of water anything. _Anything_. In the far right corner he could see an open door through which was a mirror about a wash basin. Stiles stood up on unsteady legs and rushed through.

 

He spun the hot tap on and began scrubbing away not wanting to have any trace left. He checked his white t-shirt; thankfully Stiles had avoided getting any blood on that. He looked up in the mirror and rubbed at where the smears painted his distressed features.

 

_"You look just like your Mother"_

 

Her words spun in his head. _How did she know me? How did she know my Mum? … Who was she?_ Thoughts and questions spiralling together, making one huge mass of confusion. One after the other in a non-stop motion. He couldn't keep up.

 

His hands clamped onto the side of the basin, knuckles turning white. _Breath_.He told himself.

 

In. Out.

 

In. Out

 

"Congratulations, Stiles." He looked up. Deucalion was stood just behind him, staring at his broken expression through the reflection. "You are now an official member of the pack." He held up some papers and an old, cheap phone. "And don’t I just have the perfect mission for you"

 

* * *

 

 

 

 The streets were busy.

 

Stiles was stood in an alleyway, the type you don’t really notice as you walk passed, leaning on the wall to his left, his head resting on the bricks. Deucalion and Viktor were stood beside him trying to explain the plan, but Stiles wasn't listening, he was people watching. Besides, the plan was simple it wasn't rocket science.

 

Stiles had worked out that they must be in a shopping centre of some sort, as there were large numbers of people the majority of who were carrying bags or eating food all busy with phones or friends and family. Benches ran down the centre of the street with a little plant pot by the side of them with flowers of various colours.

 

"Stiles. Stiles!" Deucalion called his name for probably more than the second time, looking frustrated. "Stiles this is important, you need to listen." Turns out that at Ella's house they had found small bits of information like where the shadows sometimes meet up which was according to Deucalion, useful. But the one thing they did find out which stuck stiles as important was another member of the group. A man called Xavier and conveniently they were meant to meet up today.

 

"I know the plan! Okay? It's simple, can I just go now?" Stiles protested turning back to Deucalion, getting frustrated himself. He just wanted to get on with it so he could get away from troublesome duo. The guilt was weighing him down. Ravaging throughout him becoming his every thought. He just needed a couple of minutes to deal with it, to be on his own and without Viktor piercing holes into him with those accusing eyes.

 

Deucalion stared at him through squinted eyes as if trying to work out what Stiles was playing at. "Okay fine. But before you go" He tossed the old phone that they found at Ella's house to Stiles. Stiles eyed it knowing there had to be some sort of catch. He guessed it would be untraceable considering it was Ella's, but still! A phone?

 

"Don't get too excited, it's been reprogrammed to only call one number and that's mine. Only call if you have to" Deucalion waved his own crappy looking phone out in front of Stiles.

 

"What if I re-reprogram it?" In truth Stiles had no clue how to do that but he was sure he could figure it out. If Deucalion did it he was sure he'd be able to. Viktor rolled his eyes and sighed. _That’s exactly how I feel, bud._

 

"Then I guess I'd have to go introduce myself to that girl you've been trying to send signals to." He looked towards a girl in her teens on a bench, completely indulged with her phone. Every time she'd look up stiles would try to get her attention hoping she would've seen him on the news and call the police.

 

A strong surge of hate overwhelmed Stiles. Hate towards Deucalion for knowing everything. Hate towards Viktor for... well, being Viktor. But mostly hate towards himself for being so helpless and weak that he had to rely on others to save him.He gave a nod and turned away. Tucking the phone into his pocket.

 

He had gone two steps when Deucalion called him again. "What?!" he didn't turn back, he just stopped and looked to his feet when a grey cardigan, like his purple one back home, landed there.

 

"Keep your head down. It's a busy place."

 

He picked the hoodie up, slid it on and walked off without another word, and without looking back.

 

Stiles made his way to the coffee shop where Ella was supposed to meet Xavier. Thinking it would be too obvious to sit in the shop; he found a bench near it and sat himself down. He knew exactly who he was looking out for, Ella had had a file one Xavier just like the one Deucalion had for her. He was a big man, in the muscle way, with a full head of short black hair. There was nothing irregular about his facial features, just that he had a lengthy, jagged scar that stretched down from the inner corner of his eye down to the bottom of his ear. Not an easy person to miss.

 

Stiles sat keeping an eye out but also trying to stay low. He was mixed between just staring at his hands and craning his neck. But he must have been doing something right because after 10 minutes of waiting, from where he sat he could see just the man he was looking for taking his time to slowly get to the coffee shop. And what was even better was that he was engrossed in some papers he held in his hands. The papers he held remind Stiles of his own tucked away in the back of his trousers.

 

Rising from his spot of the bench he retrieved the papers. He did a quick check through he had it all. It was everything they had on the shadows. Ella's and Xavier's files and all the little details they'd found at the house. A scan through rid Stiles of any doubt and he set of walking strait towards Xavier, seemingly caught up in his own reading. There was roughly 30 feet between the two, which Stiles wanted to close quickly before the man looked up.

 

20 feet

 

Stiles took long, quick strides.

 

10 feet

 

He loosely held the papers between his hands

 

5 feet

 

_Here we go_

 

3

 

2

 

1

 

And... _Bang_

 

The two collided and papers scattered everywhere.

 

"Oh I'm so sorry! Totally my fault. Silly me!" Stiles said faking the sweetness in his voice. Many people stared a few laughed but no one offered any help. Xavier gave an awkward and fake smile and keeled down to collect his papers. Stiles joined him muttering random things like "I'm such a cluts" or "Oh that one’s mine". Xavier collected his into a pile and scanned the floor for anything he'd forgotten. He stopped when he saw Ella's file that Stiles had strategically placed. He cautiously picked it up and stood strait abandoning his pile on the floor.

 

Stiles paused for a moment on the floor, giving the man time to read what was in Stiles possession. After a few seconds he stood with his gathered papers and file. "Uh, I think that’s mine" Stiles informed, taking the file from Xavier's grip with a smile. "Again, terribly sorry" He rushed off, knowing he was being watched as he went. He tucked the papers back into his trousers and carried on walking.

 

He hadn't gotten too far when the phone rang in his pocket, an irritating, loud ring tone. He dug through and pulled it out. "Yes?" He asked, keeping his head down as he carried on walking.

 

"You need to get somewhere where's there's less people. He’s not going to want to talk to you if people are listening in. We'll follow" A noise like an answer phone screeched in his ear telling Stiles he'd hung up. _Well that was rude_. But still, he followed Deucalion's orders and turned down a couple of alleyways and sure enough he came out onto a quieter street.

 

It was quite a pretty little street.Like an idyllic one you'd see in a TV show. Small but cosy. He spotted a little corner store and made his way towards it, hoping he'd find a newspaper he could flick through. He took a couple of steps but stopped when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

 

 _Well this seems strangely familiar_. He thought. And maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but Stiles swore he could hear someone breathing. He was just about to turn his head when he felt to arms wrap around his waist pulling him backwards. He opened his mouth to yell but a hand clamped down and the only sounds that escaped were muffled and incomprehensible. The arms were powerful tugging him away there for Stiles knew he wasn't going to get anywhere on strength. So, running completely on adrenalin he drew his elbow back, feeling it connect with something solid.

 

The arms loosened in shock giving stiles the opportunity to break free. He took it with open arms, running away, pushing faster with each stride. But curiosity got the better got him and his peered over his shoulder as he ran. Deucalion had said Xavier was going to want to talk but the man seemed to have something bigger on his mind.

 

Stiles, suspicions now confirmed, focused on where he was going. He took a couple of lefts and a few rights and once he was sure he'd lost Xavier he stopped running and instead hid in a lane behind a rubbish bin. He sank to the floor, catching his breath, leaning against the bin. Of course, that’s when the phone rang again. Loud and clear, basically shouting out "I'm here! Come and get me!" he was quick to answer it.

 

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Deucalion demanded through the line.

 

"What the hell am _I_ doing? What the hell is _he_ doing? He tried to grab me! You said he'd just want to talk!" Stiles snapped, peering over the top of the bin.He was stood, back facing Stiles, just at the entrance to the lane not 10 feet from where he was perched. He could see there was something in his hand but couldn't quite make it out. It might have been a cloth? "Oh crap. He's there" He said a bit more hushed this time, ducking back behind the bin.

 

"Well don't run away this time" Deucalion shot, sparking off an annoyance in Stiles. _Don't run away?_ Stiles thought, He was at a loss for words. Panic riddled through him, he just wanted to go home. Where his Dad was. Where his friends were.

 

"What am I supposed t-" His words were stopped short when a hand latched itself on his arm pulling Stiles up and out of his hiding place. He dropped the phone and tried twisting his body but a cloth pressed against his nose and mouth and he fell back onto Xavier. Stiles clawed at the material. Arms and legs flailing, but the man’s grip was strong and he held on tight. One whiff and stiles knew the man had traded strength for chloroform. And it was working fast. Stiles' vision blurred and he grew weaker by the second. His struggles became less frantic as his body surrendered to the drug.

 

_This had better be worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's just a thing with me that I have to have Stiles unconscious at the end of the chapter...eh. Hope you enjoyed! See ya!

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK! WOOP! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


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